


Meet Me On The Way Down

by somuchlighter



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, M/M, Physical Abuse, Terminal Illnesses, it's just a crapshoot of trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 59,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somuchlighter/pseuds/somuchlighter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives. 
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

It’s not like he woke up and decided to stop believing one day—it just sort of happened.

See, even when he was a young boy, Louis knew that his parents weren’t like everyone else’s. Sure, he wasn’t around his friends’ houses long enough to be positive, but he could tell when he looked into their eyes that there wasn’t the same fear lurking there. There was never that jittery nervousness, the feeling that everything could go wrong in a matter of seconds.

His mum’d remarried before he could remember and there was never a question in Louis' mind that she’d done it in an effort to be happy. She’d been miserable after his dad had left them and so when she met Mark and felt a connection, rushing into marriage seemed the logical choice. It wasn’t ideal, sure, but it wasn’t the worst thing imaginable.

The thing is, though, Mark had had a hard life, and he took to drinking. He’d swallow down a few glasses of whiskey and he’d slur and he’d stumble and, whenever his mum was around, he’d make her wish she wasn’t.

Even when he was just a kid, Louis could tell that wasn’t right, wasn’t normal. He saw the way she covered up with turtle necks and long sleeves even in the summertime, saw the way her smile came just a little bit too slow the mornings after.

Of course, they all wanted to believe it was a one-time kind of thing when it started up. Mark was nice enough during the day and Louis’ mum forgave him easily. After the first incident, Mark got very apologetic and was especially attentive and everyone else just sort of uneasily accepted that it hadn’t really been a big deal. He’d been given bad news at work after all and alcohol just had that effect on some people. It was easy enough to settle back into the way they’d been living and not make any comments about That Night.

Those Nights kept coming, though, and Louis couldn’t deal with it. He had to do something. He stuck around one night, watched from the doorway and saw it unfold—empty glass, empty bottle. He saw the way his stepfather’s face contorted into a sick grin, the way he lurched and lunged towards Louis’ mum. He’d been about four at the time, cowering and unable to make a noise or reach for the phone or fight back. He’d been utterly powerless. As soon as things’d taken a turn for the worst, he’d gone catatonic—frozen where he was, stuck watching his stepfather toss his mother like she was less than nothing.

It came to be that whenever he smelled alcohol, or heard it being poured or his stepdad getting too loud, he ran. He’d fumble up the stairs and into his room and he’d put on the happiest music he had—all the way up—and he’d squeeze his eyes shut and try not to focus on the muffled sounds of a one-sided fight.

And after all that— _this_ is the really fucked up part, Louis thought, even past all the flagrant abuse and alcoholism—they still were married. Twelve-and-some years later and the liquor cabinet was always stocked, and his mum was always a little too perky when people in Tesco asked how ‘the family’ was. Louis would stand there, silent, and listen to her make up absolute bullshit about how Mark had taken up reading spy novels, or how he and Louis had gone sailing over the weekend. And she would smile down at him, but there would be that soft pleading look in her eyes, the one you could only really identify if you’d been there and justified that yourself.

So he would nod and go along with it, because what else could he do? In his head he screamed at people to just ask him, wanted them to notice how he flinched whenever someone tried to pat him on the back or hug him. It never happened, though.

The only time anyone came close was a teacher he had when he was eight: Mr. McBride. Mr. McBride was young and new on the staff, and Louis liked how energetic he was every day. One day at recess Louis got hit with a football, and the way he doubled over in pain didn’t really match up to the force of the hit. Mr. McBride came over and asked to have a look at his side, and so Louis lifted his shirt to reveal a deep, yellow-and-purple bruise from the time he’d gotten a bad mark on a maths test. In his mind he begged his teacher to actually _do_ something with that concerned look he was wearing. Instead, Mr. McBride turned away. He didn’t say a thing, so neither did Louis.

He learned to deal with it, as awful as that sounds.

There was a dusty record player from the 80s in the corner of the room he’d lived in all his life and a couple of his mother’s old records leaned against the wall behind it. They were all synth-y and loud, and frankly not his cup of musical tea, but when your home life is straight out of a Hallmark movie minus the heartwarming ending, you’ll pretty much rely on anything to distract you. Eventually, when he’d started making his own pocket change, he’d save up for one record or another and his collection began to grow as he did.

So Louis spent his hours not in school lying on his side, listening to each record. Although they were mostly for background noise at first, eventually certain tracks stood out—ones with rhythms that drowned out his thoughts. A lot of the songs were power ballads set to long, sad-sounding violins and crescendos, but Louis’ favorites were the ones with fast tempos and breathy female vocalists. Sometimes, when he was lucky, he’d fall asleep there next to the record player and only wake up when someone knocked on his door to tell him dinner was ready. Those days he’d be just drowsy enough to trudge downstairs and eat and not have much to say around the table and he could excuse himself and make it back to his room unscathed.

When he wasn’t with his family—when he wasn’t confronted with all of the fucked up shit going on—he could put on his favorite song, “We Are Not Alone”, and imagine himself as the hero of his own melodrama. Eyes shut and body turned away from the door, Louis could pretend he was a Power Ranger or a superhero or at least someone so much bigger than he could ever be in his own life. With the volume up high enough, Karla DeVito’s voice would surround him and he could feel it course through him, could feel the need to move every inch of his body or else fold himself further into a ball. When the music was loud enough, Louis could almost feel like he wasn’t himself at all. He liked how that felt, could get used to it.

One thing he wouldn’t allow himself to get accustomed to was how often Mark and his mother said “I love you”. Every morning over breakfast they’d exchange the words as he kissed her on the cheek and acted like the night before never happened. They would say it in public all the time, at the parent-teacher meetings and Fizz’s clarinet recitals. And they would say it at night, with his mother’s arm twisted against the wall in the kitchen and tears streaming down her face, his stepfather’s face twisting in a disgusting sort of glee, forcing her to whisper it through sobs. He didn’t know when, but at some point the words got warped like an old gnarled tree that once held life and beauty. They meant nothing to him but poison and pain—and if that was love, Louis didn’t want it, didn’t want any fucking part of it.

So, yeah, he stopped believing in love and its many virtues somewhere along the line.

It’s not like he didn’t have feelings or urges—it wasn’t like he never saw someone with wide brown eyes and pink lips and didn’t want to reach out and take their hand. He just stopped believing in happy endings—stopped believing they existed outside of movies and music and celebrity marriages, stopped believing they existed for him. He’d felt one too many blows to his chest, seen one too many of those bottles his stepfather drank from so often be turned into a weapon and used against his mum and sisters. After watching more or less the same scene play out for over a decade, Louis was free of any grandiose ideas about The Ways Life Could Have Been.

He’d been on a couple of dates since he entered secondary school (a few girls and then a boy once he’d had his Big Gay Freak-Out) but he figured he couldn’t in good faith entertain the idea of bringing someone home to the folks, because, well, that would require bringing the person _home_. There would be the inevitable “why do you have cover-up by your sink” and “what’s this dent in the wall from” questions, and he just didn’t feel up to a visit from social services.

Keeping to himself at school, he found, served him well for the most part. He didn’t need friends, per se—couldn’t afford friends. The closest things he had to them were his mother and sisters. Lottie was the oldest and would sometimes come into his room and the two of them would just sit there and do homework while they listened to music, and neither would acknowledge when Louis had to turn up the volume beyond exchanging a glance.

He’d allot an hour in the morning to walk his sisters to their respective schools—he’d drop Daisy and Phoebe off at nursery school, then he’d have to walk in between Fizz and Lottie so they wouldn’t fight on the way to their primary school. Their mother worked from 10 at night to 6 in the morning, and basically since Lottie’s birth it had been Louis’ unofficial responsibility to get them ready in one piece while she got some much-needed rest. He’d spend his morning smoothing down their collars and plaiting their hair and humming as he did.

He cared more about the two older girls’ performance in school than his own, if he was being honest. Sitting down at the dinner table, he’d explain to them math and science and really anything they needed, because it was one of the only ways he could help them.

Truth is, Louis’d been lonely before Lottie and the others came along. He’d spent six long years dealing with life and its twists and turns—twists and turns no grown adult should have to deal with, let alone a child—all alone. He was just getting used to the idea of not having any company when his mother told him that she was pregnant. Right away he started looking into formulas and baby names (even though he knew his mum probably had her own ideas). When he found out the baby was going to be a girl, he started learning to braid hair and thinking of ways he could protect her from the world ( _his_ world). As soon as Lottie was born, she won Louis’ heart. He  
doted on her day in and day out and hardly let her out of his sight save to go to school. He’d play peek-a-boo with her and steal little trinkets from the local market for her and sing to her, rocking her to sleep.

His other sisters had come along in rapid succession and it wasn’t long before Louis had a tribe of young girls to look after. He loved them all right away and spent a lot of his free time looking into new ways of teaching them in their infancy. From changing diapers to teaching them to read, Louis was there every step of the way. He thanked the god he didn’t really believe in when it turned out that they didn’t get the same treatment from Mark that he did. There had been the occasional punch misguidedly thrown towards one of the girls, but for the most part they remained untouched and their punishments were kept strictly legal.

Louis chose to focus on how lucky he was to not have to watch his sisters creep into their rooms, how he didn’t have to help them ice bruises or wipe blood from their hair. Of course, it would be better still if Louis himself stopped getting the rough treatment from his stepfather as well, but he didn’t—couldn’t—allow himself to dream like that anymore. Instead of resenting his sisters for having it easier than he did, Louis put all of his effort into _keeping_ them happy.

He’d observe local girls to learn the trends in hair and clothes, and try to prepare himself for his sisters’ whims. He’d looked into the exact right temperature for formulas and adjusted when Phoebe liked hers a little warmer than Daisy. He’d introduced every one of them (even the twins) to his perfect corner of the earth: his record player. He didn’t at all mind having to walk them all to school every day because it meant he was doing something to help and that was more than he’d ever expected.

The hours Louis spent at his own school went by in a blur—he was never quite on top of his work, always had to scramble a little near deadlines, but that was okay. He got used to it. He had people he could count on to help him out when he couldn’t be arsed to flip through his textbook and find an answer to a question for his history worksheets. He had an innate ability to scope out at least one person in each of his classes to lean on whenever he got a little overwhelmed with his home life and forgot to keep up with his courseload (which, let’s face it, was constantly). No, he didn’t have _real_ friends, but he didn’t want them, either. It was enough to have a few people in his year that he knew would get him to university and out of his house.

So he was sixteen. Sixteen, and everyone kept telling him his life was ahead of him, he had his _whole life_ to decide who to be and what to do, but the thing was, he would think—the thing was that he wasn’t sure his whole life would go past sixteen. He wondered morbidly every time Mark would raise his hand to strike him if this was going to be the time. Maybe this would be the time he would be beaten so hard he wouldn’t wake up.

There were a few times it came close, that fabled light at the end of the tunnel flickering in the distance, but it was never close enough. The thought that he didn’t even have control over his own death fluttered in and out of his brain sometimes when he lay broken on the floor. Louis’ life was the subject of a choose-your-own-adventure novel, and whoever was choosing his adventures was a fucking wanker.

Some nights, after he’d showered the blood down the drains and cleaned his wounds, he would lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep, and think over and over: _Things are going to change. Something has got to give_.

It had to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! This is the prologue of a many many many chapter fic by TWO people (this is a joint account). We'll be updating once a week, and we hope you'll like it enough to stay. :) Our livejournal is so-muchlighter. You da best.


	2. i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry. OR: Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives.
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

_its satan’s day off :( :( :( save yrself_

Louis swore as he read the text from Lottie. He’d just gotten out of school, and he couldn’t believe he forgot that Mark was going to be home all day, sitting in his chair in front of the television, ready to explode at the slightest negative stimuli like some Pavlovian experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong. He knew that his mum had picked the girls up, and he’d gotten his coursework done in government class (an extremely rare occurance), so where he’d usually make a right turn to get home, he hung left. There was a part of Doncaster he loved, a grid of sandwich shops and clubs and bars and boutiques (and one bicycle shop that had been open since before Louis could remember, even though there were no decent bike paths in a 30-mile radius of the town).

His favorite shop, though, was Disc N’ Dat Records, which lay between an asian market and a grill. The manager, Andre, was a gruff, kind man who lived above the store with his cat, Cat. By the time Louis was sixteen, Andre knew him well enough from his years of frequenting the store’s aisles. He learned Louis’ taste in music, and decided that it wasn’t kosher for him to only listen to music from the 80s, of all things. In recent years, Andre had made it his mission to educate Louis and Louis respected him enough to actually take his suggestions.

Even without Andre peering over his shoulder, Louis loved sifting through the records, loved the soft thuds of the sleeves hitting each other as he made his way through the selection, looking for his next favorite avenue of escape. He didn’t even have to look at the alphabetical organizational stickers anymore—he knew where each artist was by memory, could draw the store’s layout left-handed with his eyes closed. The walk over was a quick one and he had its route memorized, too.

Turning that last corner, he smiled at the sight of the shop’s doors held open with painted cinder blocks—an open-air setting meant Andre was in an especially good mood. He raised his hand to hit the bell that the door would usually ring, and the cashier, an older blond girl named Liz, looked up and smiled. “Hi, Louis,” she said before returning to whatever it was she was doing on her phone.

“Hiya, Liz,” he grinned as he slung his rucksack down by the door. “What’s the haps?” and even while he was saying it he wanted to hit himself, because really?

She laughed, though, eyes still on her screen. “The haps are few, babe. Trying to get through uni or maybe become a prostitute. You know. Normal stuff.”

He nodded as he turned to a far corner of the store, the one that held all the new selections next to a rack of tye-dyed t-shirts, and began deftly carding through them, not really focusing on them beyond their aesthetics.  “So where’s Andre?” he asked absentmindedly, without turning to look at her.

“Old bastard took the day off,” she replied, and Louis could hear the smirk in her voice. “Probably off having a wank watching _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ , you know him.”

Louis winced. “Thanks for that. Really. Bless you.”

He heard her giggle and rolled his eyes fondly as he moved down the aisle to see if the store had gotten in an album he’d been wanting to buy for a long time, but before he could get a chance, Liz spoke up. “Hey, Lou, you like Jay-Z, right?”

Louis snorted as he turned around and leaned against the record stands. “It should be criminal not to. Why?”

“We just got this new record in, and it’s—it’s right wicked, you’ve gotta see it.” Louis was somewhat dubious, but he liked Liz a lot, so he ambled over to the counter where she was holding a beat-up cardboard box.

He looked at it. “You gonna tell me what it is?”

She shook her head, biting down a smile, and his exasperated sigh as he opened the flaps turned into a gasp when he saw its contents.

Inside a plastic sleeve was what looked to be a run-of-the-mill album, with a man wearing on the cover holding a cigar and a glaring parental guidance label in the corner. It was the scribble inside of the scarf that gave Louis pause.

“What—is this a fucking autographed _Reasonable Doubt_ , Liz?” He looked up at her in disbelief.

Nodding, she grinned and laughed a bit. “Knew you’d love it. And it’s actually, properly signed by him, so don’t go touching it,” she said, smacking his hand away.

“Fuck, Liz!” he exclaimed, raising his hands above his head. “We are in the presence of greatness, do you not realize—”

“Good choice.” The unfamiliar voice came from behind Louis and made him jump a bit. He quickly turned around, and his breath hitched in his throat just as suddenly.

Standing before him was a lanky boy with messy brown curls. Louis did his best to gather himself and smiled tightly at this new boy. “Glad someone understands,” Louis quipped, doing his best to take in the boy in front of him. His eyes were big and colored a shiny, almost iridescent green and his smile was wide, his face full of laughter. Even though he was as tall as Louis or a bit taller, he had a young, unworried face, and Louis faintly wondered if he seemed like he had wrinkles next to someone so youthful. He felt beyond his sixteen years.

“Well, it’s not every day we have a record in that’s 80 pounds—and worth it. It’s good there’s someone who’s appreciative about it,” the boy murmured, words tinged with amusement. “Hi, I’m Harry.”

“Louis.”

This boy—Harry, and Louis was going to try extremely hard not to make a pun about that brown mop on his head—nodded and just... stood there, hands in his pockets. He seemed too long to be an actual person, but he wasn’t stretched—it was more like he was kneaded out, like dough.

“Harry just got hired,” Liz interjected, and there went the one question Louis was going to use to save _that_ interaction.

“Yeah, my sister knows Liz, so she got me the job after school,” Harry explained.

“Oh, so you’re a nepotist. I see.” Louis smirked at himself, surprised that he felt comfortable enough with this near-stranger to be making banter. He didn’t speak this naturally to anyone besides Lottie.

Harry nodded solemnly. “I pride myself on it. I also enjoy sleeping around to get jobs—”

“Harold!” Liz exclaimed while he grinned wickedly. “You are too young to joke about your maidenhood. Aren’t you like, thirteen?”

He rolled his eyes at Louis as if to apologize for her. “Don’t listen to her. I’m fourteen.”

“Fourteen!” Louis scoffed, facing Liz. “Why didn’t you say so, Elizabeth? Why, he’s practically elderly.” He turned to Harry. “Soon you’ll be going off to war to die valiantly for the one you love.”

Laughing, Harry saluted him. “Gladly, for queen and country.”

Louis bit down his smile, but he could feel the heat forming in his cheeks as he gazed at Harry, not quite in awe but close.

“What’s your favorite band, then?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Oh, I don’t know, I really like loads of music,” Louis said automatically, and as soon as he said it he wanted to kick himself. “I mean—that wasn’t supposed to sound pretentious or anything, I just—”

“No, yeah, I totally get you. It’s like, why choose one? There’s rock and rap and indie—”

“Exactly!” Louis laughed, grateful he didn’t have to explain his insanity.

A few moments passed wherein he and Harry continued to look at each other fondly before Liz coughed to catch their attention— “Oh my _god_ , get a room, guys!”

Harry barked out a laugh and said, “Ignoring that, I have something a man of your varied taste might be interested in.”

“Oh, do tell,” Louis managed between chuckles. He leaned forward on the heels of his hands and tilted his head.

“Have you, by any chance, purchased the album—I mean— _Vampire Weekend_?”

“Sorry?”

“Here, here—just—come over this way,” Harry urged, gesturing behind him. For whatever reason, Louis decided to follow. The stack they ended up in front of wasn’t labelled and, looking at it, didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason. “This is a pile I’m working on,” Harry cut in. “It’s—well—my favorites.”

Louis cocked an eyebrow as Harry stood proudly in front of it, and he approached the pile, wary. Harry chuckled and nudged the back of Louis’ leg with his foot. “G’on then. It’s not gonna bite.”

He picked up the first album (appropriately, _Vampire Weekend_ by Vampire Weekend) and as he shuffled through he found himself more and more intrigued by Harry. If his music taste was anything to judge by, Harry himself had a lot more going on in his head than he let on. Included in the eclectic collection, if he was being politically correct, were The Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Arctic Monkeys, and—

“Wait, you—Spice Girls? Really?”

"You sound incredulous."

"Well, I can't say I'm not surprised,” Louis admitted, flipping the album over to look at the tracks. “Aren't they a little... mainstream for your tastes?"

Harry paused, turning his body a little more to look Louis up and down. “Do you mean to tell me you’re someone who doesn’t believe in the artistic integrity of the Spice Girls in their early years?”

“Well, maybe you should enlighten me,” Louis indulged, smiling.

Harry sighed, and Louis would have bristled at being treated like a four-year-old if he wasn’t so intrigued. “Seriously? They instigated the whole ‘girl power’ movement in the 90s, they were one of the biggest British groups since The Beatles, and, like, fuck, have you heard ‘Wannabe’?”

Louis just rolled his eyes and Harry shrugged as he continued, “Plus, I mean, Victoria Beckham.”

“A very valid, well-thought-out, logical point,” Louis laughed.

“I’m chock full of ‘em, honestly.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve won me over. I’ll give ‘em another chance.”

“Can’t believe you didn’t already love them. From what I hear, you’re all about pop.”

Louis raised his eyebrows at that. “From what you hear?” His curiosity was just barely outweighing his defensiveness— _no one_ insults Louis Tomlinson’s music taste. “And what, are you trying to imply that pop is all the same?”

“I just—no—I mean, like—the Spice Girls are the aftermath of the 80s pop movement. Like, how could you not love them, I guess?” Harry’s eyes were wide and searching. “And, um, Andre and Liz sort of told me about you. Other regulars, too, I swear!” Harry began burying his face in his hands and let out a muffled “I sound so creepy. I’m sorryyyy.”

Louis’ heart fluttered a little, damn it all, and his smile returned. (The smile that had been plastered to his face since he first met Harry only a few minutes before.) Louis rolled his eyes, at least half at himself, and fixed his eyes on Harry’s. “I forgive you for your... less than savory, stalker-esque behavior,” he said, faux-curtsying.

Harry peeked out of his hands, eyes crinkling and bright, like he was looking into the sun. “Promise?” he said meekly, and Louis almost snorted, because he couldn’t promise himself shit, why did this boy think he could do any better for someone he barely knew?

Still, he nodded. “Cross my heart,” he said solemnly.

“Good! By the way, just to level the playing field, my full name is Harry Edward Styles, I enjoy alternative rock and vanilla-flavored coffee, and I go to Darnielle, and—"

“Wait,” Louis screwed his face up and tilted his head at Harry, trying to place him and failing. “You go to Darnielle? Like, Darnielle Academy?”

“Yep. I’m new, my mum just moved us here from Holmes Chapel,” Harry smiled. “Do you go there too? Oh, this is ace. I don’t know anyone there!” He turned to Liz, who had gone back to organizing some records in the corner. “Liz! I made a friend!”

“Proud of you, babe,” she said without looking as Louis giggled (since when did he fucking _giggle_?).

His phone vibrated in his back pocket, and his mind jolted out of the record store, back to the Real World where he had, you know, responsibilities. Pulling it out, he held back an incredulous laugh as he saw he’d been at the store for nearly an hour. He should have been getting home, and, predictably, his new text was from Lottie. It read: _ok you can come home now, this is not a request!!_

He sighed and held it up by means of explanation. “Sorry, but I—I’ve got to get going, got home things to do, Spice Girls to not listen to.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Harry nearly shouted, making Louis jump. “You’re not leaving without some remedial education.” He grabbed the pile of his favorites and headed into the storeroom. Louis frowned at Liz, who shrugged.

Harry returned, and sometime since he’d entered the store that day Louis must've lost all sense of decency and self-restraint, because he got slack-jawed as he saw what the boy was carrying.

Harry had wrapped the pile up in a big blue ribbon, and there was a Post-It note stuck to the top with something scribbled on it. “Are you actually a real person?” Louis mused, and Harry beamed as he handed the makeshift present over.

“You take these home and listen to them good and proper, yeah? My number’s on the note, so you can text me what you think of all of them,” he said as he tapped the Post-It.

“What—I—where did you get the ribbon?” Louis asked, gaping.

Harry barked with laughter and covered his mouth like he’d been caught doing something wrong. Lowering his hand, he snickered as he said, “We just have it in the back for gift-wrapping, you goober.”

“Hey now, if anyone’s the goober it’s you, you stalker!” Louis said as Harry spun him around and pushed him out of the door.

“Y’all run along now, you hear?” he said in the worst Southern accent Louis had ever heard. “And text me! I’ll find you at school if you don’t!”

Louis searched for a witty reply, but came up with nothing, so instead he opted to smile at Harry and back away with his hands in the air. "Alright, alright, I'm going!"

Harry—fuck it all—Harry blew him a kiss and smiled widely, waving fervently.

Louis rubbed his temple with his free hand. _What has my life become?_ he thought briefly, before deciding that he really, _really_ didn't actually want to go down that path.

Still, untoward as the day had been, Louis made his way back home, smiling, with the wrapped stack of records tucked safely under his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! This is kind of like our baby, and we're very happy to see people actually like it. :) Like we said last time, we'll be updating once a week on Saturdays, so mark your calendars. Or don't, it's whatever. This is us at [LJ](http://so-muchlighter.livejournal.com/606.html) if that's your thing.


	3. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry. OR: Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives.
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

The next few days went by unremarkably, punctuated only by Mark’s fists to Louis’ back on the day he had that conference call at five in the morning. Louis woke up late Saturday morning, bruised and anxious, and buried his head beneath his pillow. He groaned and squinted into the gray light filtering through his blinds. All he really wanted to do was disappear, but apparently that wasn’t the universe’s plan, so he decided to put on some music and try to go back to sleep for a while.

He stretched, straightened his shirt out, and cradled his head in his knees, before moving to crawl towards his record player on all fours. His hand was halfway to his DeVito record when he remembered— _Harry fucking Styles_. Harry Styles, whose absolute favorite records were sitting, still wrapped on Louis’ desk. Harry Styles, whose number was conveniently written on the Post-It attached to the ribbon around the stack of records on Louis’ desk. Louis shivered and let his eyes close for a second, trying to reconcile the confusing turn his life had taken.

Honestly, Louis’d gotten really distracted when he’d arrived home from the record store and had been too exhausted after dinner to listen to Harry’s... gifts. Handouts? Rentals? Whatever they were. Of course, the next morning he’d remembered, but since then, he’d been trying to work out exactly why Harry had given _him_ his favorite music on loan. Louis sure as hell wouldn’t ever let anyone even touch his favorite records, and there’s no way he’d hand them out, with a fucking bow on them, to a stranger. He was taken aback by this boy’s trust that Louis would return them, and he wondered what it was like to not question everyone’s motives.

Still, he bit back his bitterness and tightened his jaw. Clearly, he couldn’t just keep the records on his desk forever, collecting dust and missing from Harry’s life. It was a Saturday and he had no plans for a crazy sort of day, so he made up his mind to give them a go. Louis pulled on the ribbon, edging it off the stack intact, and took a fresh look at the seven albums Harry’d given him. Right beneath _Vampire Weekend_ was _Spiceworld_. Louis thought back to Harry’s passionate speech on the Spice Girls’ virtues and nearly choked laughing.

He settled back down, lip quirked, and decided it was finally time for his “remedial education”. Leaning against the side of his desk, he made his decision: Modest Mouse’s _Good News For People Who Love Bad News_. (He decided to save that the Spice Girls for last, if only to drive Harry insane.)

Really, he was only basing his decisions on the overall prettiness of the covers, and he especially liked this one. He wasn’t sure what it was about the white arrows in the green wall that appealed to him, but it drew him more than the others, so he carefully slipped it out of the sleeve and settled it onto the player, dropping the needle down onto its ridges.

The record started to turn and turn, but there wasn't any sound. Louis' head started to hurt and he furrowed his brow, wondering how in the hell he managed to break Harry's album on his walk from Disc N' Dat to his house. His thoughts were interrupted by a slew of horns, creating a cacophony that honestly didn't really help his headache situation all too much. Thankfully, however, the horns quieted down and bled into the next track, which was calmer and sadder and matched Louis' mood, in any case.

_Ice age, heat wave, can't complain_

_If the world's at large, why should I remain?_

And, ouch, that hit Louis at his core. This entire song, really, sounded too much like Louis' inner monologue set to music for his comfort. He was truly stuck between wanting to listen to it forever and wanting to move on as soon as possible. He settled for moving the needle back to the start three more times and then letting the album play the next song.

The beat started up and Louis looked at the track listing on the back of the album—"Float On". Even though "World at Large" connected with Louis' emotional state of being, he needed more songs telling him things will get better. He didn't have to believe it—he just had to believe that someone did, at least enough to try to convince others that there was a chance of happiness in life.

He shook his head, trying to stave off those thoughts. There would be another time for introspection. Letting the record play on, he lay on the floor of his room with his eyes closed and allowed the music to wash over him, sitting up only to flip the record when it was time.

The album ended like it began—subtly, and without letting Louis in on it. He opened his eyes after there had been a indeterminable silence and realized it was over. Grabbing his phone and the note that was still stuck to Vampire Weekend, he punched Harry’s number into a new contact, and opened a new message.

_u listen to some weird shit, i must say._

The reply came in seconds: _Louis, i presume? Took you long enough!! What did your refined palette decide on?_

Louis laughed, and decided not to read too much into how often he was doing that lately.

_modest mouse. i liked 3 of the tracks but the rest kind of harsh my mellow_

Harry must have held some sort of speed-texting title, because not a minute later Louis’ phone dinged. _They’ll grow on you, i promise_.

Louis smirked and typed back as quickly as he could.

_and how exactly are they supposed to grow on me?_

A new message came in a matter of seconds. _Keep listening._

_what do u suggest for my next venture??_

Harry's next reply didn’t come for about seven minutes (but it wasn’t like Louis was checking the time to make sure). _well if you didn’t like that one, I wouldn’t suggest Bob Dylan_

_it’s not that i didn’t LIKE it , it was just weird as fuck_

_That’s a v rude way of saying “eclectic”, Louis Mystery Surname xx_

Louis rolled his eyes and tried his very, very best not to smile. _Tomlinson, if youre asking_

_Lovely to meet you Louis Tomlinson._

_likewise_

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, wondering what exactly was going on here and whether he was right in feeling so giddy about everything.

_Hey Louis?_

_yeah ?_

_You listening to the Dylan yet?_

Louis chuckled and lifted the needle for the record player and slid the worn record out of its sleeve and onto the player. _i am now_ _,_ he tapped out. Harry, he thought, had an roundabout way of being insistent. Louis didn't altogether dislike that about him—not even remotely. He seemed like the type of person who really liked a lot of things, and Louis distantly hoped he was somewhere on that list.

There was this voice in Louis’ head that always appeared when things were going relatively well in his life (it sounded suspiciously like Mark). That voice was whispering to Louis right now to let go, give up, not even think about this Harry kid he barely knew, and move on with his life. Louis was inclined to give in to his inner degradations in general, knew nothing good could come from feeling hopeful about anything on any given day, but this time—this time he was really feeling okay, and that was as good a reason as any to not stay in his head too much for a few hours at the very least.

Louis’ eyes fluttered shut and he let the easy sounds of Bob Dylan wash over him. The album was good to listen to—light and folky and without weird noises (though there were still some parts he wasn’t so sure about). It wasn’t the music Louis was used to, sure, but it did remind him of Harry a bit, all murmurs and a sure, happy voice. (In the back of his mind, Louis pondered whether this boded ill despite only having talked to Harry for approximately an hour, if he was rounding up.)

The thing was that in spite of how manic and untouched and intangible Harry Styles was, he was already ingrained in Louis like the lyrics to his favorite songs or the scars checkering his side. Somehow, Harry’d weaseled himself in-between the spot reserved for Louis’ daydreams and the corner that chained his flickering heart down every time Louis’ life took a turn for the better. This, Louis thought, was not incredibly comforting.

_So????_

Louis nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone buzzed in his hand. He scrubbed his face and tried to work out why Harry’s message was so urgent. The album. Of course.

_working on it !!!_

_Yeah you told me that part already but how do you like it??_

Louis could actually hear the exasperation in Harry’s text and see his rolling eyes.

_i like it fine, you spaz_

_“Fine” is not good enough!!!_

He scoffed. This kid was already getting under his skin like an itch he couldn’t quite reach or some other shit metaphor. _youre actually the worst_

_You love me x_

Louis’ breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was having trouble swallowing or why he caught himself smiling dopily down at his phone. Obviously, Harry was just being cheeky, but all the same Louis felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. While he wasn’t sure “love” was the word he’d use, given the fact that he was positive it didn’t exist, it wasn’t entirely off-base. At all.

He felt good.

“Boy! Lunch!” He winced as Mark’s voice cut through his reverie and sighed as he set down his phone to head downstairs.

“Coming,” he yelled. He didn’t even add ‘you fucking bastard’ under his breath like he usually would have. He chalked that up to just having a good day. Harry didn’t have anything to do with it. Nope.

Louis stopped the record player and slowly made his way down the stairs and into the dining room. His mother, sisters, and Mark were already seated and eating, but Mark stopped when Louis entered the room. He snorted and shot a derisive look at Louis.

“Took you long enough, princess.”

Louis flinched and tightened his mouth into a line. “Sorry. I was trying to finish a problem for maths.”

Mark snickered. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

His mother was silently pushing salad around in a bowl, and Louis couldn’t really resent her for it. He was stronger than she was; he could take more than she could. And as he looked across at Lottie and Fizz staring down at their plates and the twins cooing in their high chairs, he thought he _would_ take it. If only for them.

So he bit down his words and swallowed his bitterness, and thought about how this was the best fucking reminder he could get that no matter how great things went, this was what he came home to.

Living with this bullshit every day had its small benefits, though. Louis knew how to angle his body to minimize pain, knew how to take the stairs three at a time, knew how to get out of bad situations before they turned worse. He could be passably pleasant—pleasant enough to get away with being the last to lunch and the first to leave without having to deal with the consequences immediately, at the very least. It helped that he actually had someone outside of his family to talk to now.

Louis just barely resisted slamming his door on his way to his phone once he’d gotten up from the table. Slamming his door would mean conceding that Mark had gotten to him and would guarantee a confrontation and Louis was too tired for that today. There was too much for him to do, and he had too many things to say to Harry.

He tried to think up a clever or witty greeting but after five minutes he settled on _hey_.

Hey. Where’d you run off to?? And yeah, those were definite butterflies in Louis’ stomach, and their wings beat to the rhythm of “he missed me, he missed me, he missed me”.

_lunch. gross. who needs nourishment?_

_Not me, that’s for damn sure. I run on fairy dust and good thoughts_

Louis thought to himself that his life could use a little fairy dust and he allowed himself to smile at that idea. He chuckled, picturing Harry galavanting across valleys and living in trees, collecting dreams in his spare time or whatever fairies did. not surprised in the slightest

_Have you listened to the rest of the albums yet?_

Sighing, he tried to come up with a polite way of saying “I’m not in the mood”. _i’m saving them , you know , spreadin them out over a long time_

_That’s ok!!!_

Louis tilted his head and searched for a reply in order to keep the conversation going. His thoughts were interrupted when another message came, however.

_Do you have a calendar designated specifically for keeping track of when to listen??_

Louis barked out a laugh, surprising himself. _how else would i do it ?_

_Do you sort everything with colors? is there a method??_

_of course. i even broke out my label-maker._

_Now i know you’re lying._

They continued like that for a while, back-and-forth about nothing that seemed of any consequence, but it meant the world to Louis. To be able to just talk to someone about things that weren’t his family or school. Louis found out that Harry’d only been living in town for two months, liked it here, and lived with his mum and sister. He had worked at a bakery in Holmes Chapel before the move, and was supposedly “the best cakemaker that damn town ever had”.

Louis found himself with an aching desire to know everything about this boy who seemed to have so much light in him. He couldn’t exactly pin down what it was that made him so eager to get to know him, but if he was held at gunpoint he would probably say that he wanted to hold onto what he had of him before he left, like everyone else did.

_what’s your favourite movie?? mine’s grease because i’m the worst_

_You ARE the worst, oh my god. that movie is so campy._

Louis rolled his eyes. _what’s wrong with camp? as i recall, a certain someone likes THE SPICE GIRLS??!?!??_

_Totally different and you know it._

_fine, fine, fine. whats your very un-campy favourite movie then, harold?_

Louis waited a few minutes for Harry’s response, worrying that maybe he’d fucked everything up by letting his (albeit very slight) irritation seep into his reply. He was just about to start drafting a new message when his phone buzzed.

_If you must know, mine’s Titanic. Was considering telling you American Beauty but there are no secrets between us, right, Lou? x_

Louis warmed at Harry’s use of a nickname, and considered whether maybe he wasn’t entirely imagining the connection there _._ _of course there aren’t x. why were u gonna say american beauty tho?_

_do you watch the show Friends?_

_oh my HGOD yes it’s my favourite show of all time !!_ He disregarded the typo and sent it anyway. This way Harry could feel the raw emotion he was pouring into these messages.

_well there’s an episode where they’re playing a trivia game and one of the questions is “Rachel claims this is her favourite movie” and Joey says “dangerous liaisons” and then ross goes “Rachel’s ACTUAL favourite movie is....” and joey says “weekend at bernie’s”. I am Rachel in this scenario._

Yep. Fuck it. Louis had a crush, there wasn’t any getting around it. Harry turned him into a dumb, irrational thirteen-year-old girl who cared about people (or, at least, one person). Going off experience alone, Louis decided that there was approximately a 2.3% chance of this ending well. All the same, he couldn’t help but be drawn to Harry. Harry emanated warmth and welcome—Harry was a light in the darkness and, goddammit, Louis was a moth, wasn’t he? If this was what his nature dictated, who was he to say no?

_if youre rachel, who does that make me???_

_You’re her infamous hair of course!! :D :D :D_

Louis considered Rachel’s “infamous hair” for all of two seconds, and his nose scrunched up in mild disgust. _not sure that’s a compliment babe_

_I’m sorry!!! you can be Brad Pitt if you want!!_

_i cant have a more permanent role ?_

_Be the Ross to my Rachel. xx_

Louis inhaled sharply and typed out his response. _gladly, darling._

It was a couple of minutes before his phone dinged again. _Hey, I’ve got to get to work. Wanna drop in and see me so I can ridicule your taste some more?_

He tilted his head to listen and—yeah, Mark was absolutely still there, grumbling on about something or other to whoever would listen. Louis would never get away with leaving the house with anything less than a severed limb.

_truly pains me to say i can’t. :(((( i’ve got work to do before monday_

_Augh!!! Guess I’ll see you at school then, schoolmate-buddy-thing??_

_you bet. see you monday <3 x_

He pinched the bridge of his nose and ignored the voice in his head. “Fuck off,” he told it, rolling over so his face was in the carpet and letting out a muffled scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thaaaank you for reading :) we love you like you were our own mothers and fathers. visit us on [LJ](http://so-muchlighter.livejournal.com/) if you're so inclined.


	4. iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry. OR: Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives.
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

By the time Monday rolled around, Louis’d all but forgotten his promise to meet up with Harry. He did finally remember between his classes (because someone was wearing a green shirt that was almost the exact shade of Harry's eyes) and immediately started worrying about how he would interact with Harry in school, how he would find him at all, whether Harry even still cared. He smiled a little as he recalled their nice rapport with few awkward pauses and no moments of unease. If Louis was being honest with himself, he’d have to say that his connection with Harry was one of the more earnest, simple things in his life. Louis liked Harry and Harry seemed to like everything, to some degree.

Regardless, Louis found himself, brow furrowed, trying to plan ahead for the next time he saw Harry in the flesh. During his break, Louis was so distracted thinking about Harry and how to handle this delicate situation that he didn’t notice Harry at all until he walked straight into him.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, old man.” And there was Harry standing in front of him, seemingly unable to keep his smile down. Louis cursed himself for not paying attention to where he was going. He cursed himself doubly for finding everything about Harry so damn endearing.

Louis trained his face into his most winning smile and took in the sight of Harry like a breath of fresh air. “Thought you were the fourteen-year-old geriatric,” he managed.

“Only on weekends,” Harry said, wrestling his mouth into a disapproving line. His eyes betrayed his fondness, though, brightly trained on Louis’ face.

Though the prospect of gazing back at Harry for the foreseeable future was tempting, Louis decided the normal human being thing to do would be to continue the conversation in some way. “So, where are you headed on this fine day?”

“Well, actually, I was just on my way back to the history building and—”

“Back, hm?”

“Well... yeah. I came from over there.”

Louis hummed, telling Harry to continue.

Harry blinked, and his face colored, and he started up again, “I, uh, sorta knew you’d be over here.”

Louis choked on his laughter. “I’m sorry?”

“I... erm.”

“Harry,” Louis said, as seriously as he could, pausing to level a look at the boy in front of him. “Harry, that’s across campus.”

“Oh, what, so now you’re Mr. Geography?” Harry poked him in the chest.

Louis bounced on his heels and tilted his chin up. “I happen to be very good at geographic endeavors, thank you very much.”

“Well, if you ever need a compass, I’m right here,” Harry smirked. “North is somewhere that-a-way.” He pointed somewhere behind them, and Louis thought, _No, north is you._

“Your, er, quite impressive sense of direction helps explain some why you’re all the way over here instead of, I don’t know, back there, by your classes.”

“No, no, my compass-ing abilities have nothing to do with that,” Harry said, smiling wide. His voice was thick like molasses and Louis got a bit distracted listening to the comforting rhythm of Harry’s speech. Harry shifted his weight and opened his mouth to speak again, laughing lightly.

“What, then?” Louis asked. “Come on, Harry. Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Like I said,” Harry said slowly, “I knew you were _here_.”

“I...”  Louis tried to speak, but he found his mouth was dry and his head was empty. Or, rather, his head was buzzing with too many thoughts and he couldn’t quite grab hold of a single one. He shook his head and swallowed. “You... knew I was here?”

Louis briefly considered how he probably looked—shocked and more than a little panicked—and he tried to smile at Harry with a semblance of normalcy.

Harry, for his part, seemed amused more than anything. He searched Louis’ eyes and slowly nodded. “Oh, Louis, you underestimate me.” Seeing Louis’ enduring confusion, Harry continued, “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.” He punctuated his sentence with a wink, then explained further: “I can find someone I want to find.” He smirked, looking extraordinarily proud of himself.

Louis stared open-mouthed at Harry, grinning before him like a psychopath. _I_ , he thought, _am flirting with a madman_. Louis had a thousand questions, but decided to ask the obvious: “What _are_ you?”

“I’m one of a kind. Or so my mum says, anyway.” Harry’s smile didn’t falter for a moment—in fact, he drank in Louis’ awe and brightened, laughing with renewed vigor.

This whole conversation was, more than anything, proof to Louis that Harry Styles was nothing but a figment of his imagination. Louis shut his eyes and opened them again, half surprised to find Harry still before him. “Why, pray tell, did you want to find me? And how on earth did you manage it?”

Harry chuckled. “A magician never reveals his secrets. And, anyway, you told me that you’d see me at school, so here I am, seeing you at school.” Harry spread out his arms and gestured to himself, as though trying to prove that he really was there. He ducked his head and peeked back up at Louis, gauging his reaction.

“You haven’t killed anyone, right?” Louis asked. “Because you’re acting like a serial killer. Actual serial killer Harry Styles.”

Harry gasped and put his hand over his heart. “Why, Louis, I’m offended! Of course I’ve never serial-killed. I’ve never even regular-killed.” His face got mock-serious and he crossed his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Louis tilted his head and looked at Harry, scrutinizing him to make sure he wasn’t lying. He doubted Harry had the ability to lie convincingly, but all the same Harry somehow figuring out where he was was strange and he couldn’t make sense of it. Louis sighed and looked Harry up and down. He still looked amused and relaxed and Louis decided it wasn’t the worst thing imaginable to have the boy you liked more or less stalking you. It wasn’t exactly how he’d hoped (or expected) this to go, but it wasn’t entirely awful.

Harry shook his head, smiling down, and said, “Don’t let your suspicions put a damper on our friendship.” Then, quieter, “You’re still the only person I really know here.”

Louis’ heart just about melted. He smiled, eyes crinkling, and replied, “Best keep it that way. I’m the only halfway decent person to know in these parts.”

“S’what I hear,” Harry beamed.

And this was good, this was comfortable. Louis could live in the lingering moments he spent exchanging smiles with Harry, could build a home in the way Harry’s eyes lit up every time he laughed. Louis thought, in the back of his mind, that he wouldn’t even care too much if Harry were a murderer so long as he got to spend a little more time with him. Truth be told, it would be a better death than he’d imagined for himself in years.

“So,” Harry said.

“So,” Louis echoed.

“I was thinking we could hang out. Like, outside of a work or school setting,” Harry said uncertainly. He wrung his hands and bit his lip, smiling coyly. Louis absolutely did not, under any circumstances start having trouble breathing as his brain registered how lovely Harry’s lips alone were.

“I think that could be arranged,” Louis responded, peeling his eyes from Harry’s mouth to meet his eyes.

Harry’s face lifted, as if he was actually expecting Louis to say no. “Really? Are you sure?”

Louis snorted and covered his mouth. “Yes, yeah, I’m quite sure. How does Friday work for you?”

“Friday afternoon’s no good for me—work—but I can do night, or Saturday, if that’s better.” Harry’s brow was set in an intense concentration and he blinked, looking up at Louis hopefully.

Louis steeled himself—texting was one thing but his flirting game was basically nonexistent when it came to real-world application. “How about Saturday? We could—you know, start early and see what happens.” Fucking hell, he sounded like a pervert. Why did he speak? Why did he leave the house?

Harry didn't seem to mind, though, as he laughed and jumped a little. “Perfect! That’s perfect. Oh my god, I can’t wait.”

He flashed one more smile and pecked Louis’ cheek. “See you Saturday!” he yelled as he bounded out of the hall.

Louis was frozen where he stood. If he thought he was doomed before, he decided he had better start building a fortress for the apocalypse after that. Harry Styles, he figured, was his own sort of disaster waiting to happen. He was a kind of perfect storm—unrelenting and beautiful. More than that, though, he was like the eye of every storm: calm and unassuming and seemingly unaware of every tragedy just outside of him. Harry was the eye of the storm, and he was surrounding Louis. Louis breathed for the first time in what felt like years, focusing on the memory of Harry's lips on his cheek.

His fingers ghosted over the spot sporadically over the course of the day. He didn’t see Harry again that day—or for the rest of the week. Apart from a few texts exchanged when Louis was listening to Harry’s records before bed, their contact was minimal. Louis didn’t think too much into it, or tried not to anyway. He rationalized that Harry was probably just saving up conversation for their—whatever it was they were doing Saturday. ‘Hanging out’, Harry called it, and if it were anyone else Louis would take the meaning as platonic, but there was something in the way Harry lit up when they were talking, something in how he just offered up his favorite albums to a near-stranger. He made a note to ask Liz if this was something the boy did often.

He hoped it wasn’t. He hoped he was special. (Harry seemed to have turned Louis into a sucker for hope these days.)

And while he was on the subject of hope—he didn’t want to jinx anything, but the beatings Mark was doling out seemed to be... better? Maybe "better" wasn't the right word, but Louis found them more bearable, in any case. He wasn't focusing so much on when the next time would be, didn't keep a mental check on how long each one lasted, and his head filled with Harry's voice, Harry's music whenever things got particularly rough.

Friday evening Lottie knocked on his door before just coming in and sitting on Louis’ bed.

“You know, some people wait to be allowed in,” he murmured from the ground as he worked on a problem for maths. (He was trying to get all his assignments done before Saturday.)

“Some people, sure,” she said as she bounced up and down on the mattress. “But I’m your sister, Lou! Your _favoritest_ sister.”

“I love all of you little monkeys equally, you know that.”

They were quiet for a bit when Lottie turned her attention to the corner of his room and slid off the bed. “You’ve got new ones,” she observed, picking up _Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not_ by the Arctic Monkeys.

“Oh, er, yeah,” he said, sitting up. “Those are from a friend.”

Lottie looked genuinely pleased. “You’ve got a friend? What’s their name? Where’d you meet them? Can I meet them?”

Normally Louis’ guard would be up, but he rarely kept anything from Lottie. “His name’s Harry. He works at Disc N’ Dat—you know, that record shop I took you to that one time last year?”

“The guy who owns it has a cat, right?” she asked, scrunching up her nose to help her remember.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, Harry goes to my school as well, so.”

"Harry, huh? What's this Harry like?" Lottie leaned forward on the heels of her hands and smiled brightly at Louis.

“He’s...” Louis racked his brain for adequate ways to describe Harry. Wood nymph. Serial killer. Moron. Adorable. “He’s really weird. But, like, also really cool? I like—he’s just cool.”

“You like him, don’t you?” she asked cheekily, poking Louis in his stomach and giggling. She flopped down onto her stomach, putting her head in her hands and waiting.

(Lottie’d responded pretty damn well to Louis being gay, given the fact that she was eight at the time and had no exposure to that sort of thing. One day after Louis came home from a date with Aiden, a brooding, handsome boy in his year, she asked where he’d been, and he told her.

_“So I mean... I like boys, but it’s the same as if I liked girls. Just different.”_

_“Oh. Okay. Do you know what we’re having for supper tonight?”_ And that had been that.)

Louis sputtered, “I do not!”

“Oh my gosh, you so do!” Lottie giggled, pointing an accusatory finger right at Louis. He didn’t say anything, but his cheeks filled with color. Lottie squealed. “So I was right, then!”

He put his hands up in the air, surrendering. “So what if you were?” he goaded.

“ _So_ I’m gonna need more of a description than ‘really weird and really cool’, obviously.” She looked hard at him, like he was the world’s biggest idiot for needing an answer that self-evident. “And don’t dodge out of this one, I swear.”

Louis groaned and shook his head, suppressing his smile for the sake of looking indignant. “Alright, alright, what do you want to know, dear?”

“Well, for starters, what does he look like?” She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “For god’s sake.”

Scoffing, Louis replied, “Pushy, aren’t we?”

She only shrugged and stared at him expectantly. Sighing dramatically, he climbed up on the bed with her and crossed his legs. “He has curly brown hair, and he’s very skinny, and he’s got dimples and his eyes are as green as... something very green.”

“Mold,” Lottie supplied helpfully.

“Perfect,” Louis deadpanned. “You should be a writer, Lot.”

“My teacher Mrs. Thomas says I’m ‘dangerously imaginative’.”

“Think Mrs. Thomas might be onto something, too,” he smiled as he ruffled her feathery hair.

She made a face, but he knew she loved the attention he gave her. “I’m seeing Harry tomorrow, you know,” he said.

“Tomorrow?” She cocked her head, confused. “How? You know how _he_ gets on weekends.”

He studied the pattern on his comforter. She was right, honestly, and it wasn’t like it was something he hadn’t thought of. On certain Saturdays and Sundays, Mark took to drinking starting at 9 in the morning and not stopping till 1 or 2 that night. Louis would have to come up with a legitimate excuse to get out of the house early and stay out all day (and maybe night? Like he said, sucker for hope).

“I’ll think of something,” he said softly. “I’m quite resourceful, you know.”

She nodded seriously, but she couldn’t keep the aged worry out of her eyes—eyes that had seen too much for not even being ten years old. “I know. I just... Be careful, Louis. I love you and I know you’re really smart, but he’s so much bigger than you and what if one day—”

“‘What if’ nothing, Lottie,” he said firmly, reaching for her hand and squeezing. “Your big brother knows how to take care of himself.”

“Does he?” she asked quietly, and that shocked him into silence. He tried for an answer—a simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that one word—so he just pulled her close to him and leaned against the wall with her head against his chest, and let his heart beat through the both of them.

He nodded off with his chin on top of her head and woke up (a minute? an hour?) later. Checking his watch, he saw it was half 9. “Might as well get an early night,” he murmured as he shifted to his side and helped Lottie to as well. She turned and wrapped her fists in his shirts and nestled her head into the hollow between his neck and his shoulder.

Suddenly he was overcome with love, something he only ever really felt for his sisters, these little lives he was entrusted with protecting. Kissing the top of her head, he tried to blink away tears he felt prickling at the back of his eyes.

“Love you, sweet girl,” he sighed as he settled his arms around her and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO SO much to everyone who's bookmarked/left kudos :) It really means a lot to us. The next chapter is a doozy so get excited and remember to check us out on [lj](http://so-muchlighter.livejournal.com/)!!


	5. iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry. OR: Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives.
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

The best sleep Louis had gotten in weeks was interrupted by Lottie shaking him and holding his phone in his face.

“Wake up! Wake _up_! You’re meeting with Harry today, remember?”

Louis rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the time showing on the screen of his phone. Fucking hell, it was 11 in the morning. Lottie looked at him, shaking her head, and he rolled his eyes and snatched up his phone, murmuring a muffled apology.

“When’re you going to get together?” she asked, voice lilting. “And,” she added, “how’re you going to escape in the first place?”

Louis paused, hands tensing on his phone, and replied thoughtfully, “I do have something of an idea.”

Lottie raised her eyebrows, but remained silent.

Louis shrugged. “Give me a second to straighten things up and call Harry, love.”

“No time!” She tugged on his arm insistently. “Come on, get up and talk to Mark so you can go!”

Louis laughed and grabbed his jumper out of the closet. He headed towards the door, opening it and gesturing for Lottie to go first. “After you,” he said, following her down the stairs.

Lottie glanced back up at him for a slow second, a wide smile splitting across her face, and Louis felt that familiar, ridiculously strong adoration he had for her bleeding into him again, unable to resist smiling at her in turn. He raised a finger to his lips to make sure she remembered not to give anything away. Lottie, brave soul that she was, mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key and went skipping down the hall towards her bedroom.

Louis’ eyes followed her, and then he turned to approach the family room where Mark would inevitably already be stationed in front of the telly.

Creeping timidly towards the doorway, Louis looked into the room and spotted Mark in his chair, two empty bottles next to him on the floor. Taking a deep breath, Louis entered the room.

Mark tore his eyes from the football match on the television for half a second to look at Louis with contempt. “Fancy seeing you here,” he slurred, turning back to the game. “Am I suddenly worthy of your presence, your highness?”

Louis suppressed a shudder (like he always had to around Mark) and breathed out through gritted teeth, “Thought you might want to know I’ve got a job interview today, so I’ll be gone for a while.” He gauged Mark’s reaction, wondering whether he would buy into his lie, but Mark just took a swig of his bourbon and continued watching the football game.

Louis waited a beat, then turned on his heel when no response came. He made it two feet out of the door before Mark replied, “Why is this the first I’m hearing ‘f it, then?” Louis stopped, rolled his shoulders and rubbed his face, then moved back into the family room. He narrowed his eyes at Mark and said, in the sweetest voice he could manage, “You never asked.”

“Where is it?” Mark asked with a sniff. “Didn’t know you’ve got any markable skills.”

Louis twitched. He knew Mark meant ‘marketable’, but damned if he was going to miss seeing Harry over correcting vocabulary. “It’s a record shop, and the owner likes me. I already know most everything about it anyway.”

He had to resist lunging at the man when Mark snorted and said, “So you’re a kiss-ass. Figured you couldn’t have actually worked for something.”

“Right, well, I’ve got the interview, so I’ll be back later,” Louis managed to get out, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading out the door.

Louis shrugged on his jumper and braced himself for a quick second against the cold winds that met him when he stepped outside. He steadied himself, taking a deep breath, and looked over his shoulder, making sure Mark wasn’t looming behind him. Louis speed-walked around the corner, smiling to himself, and halted near a convenience store.

He took his phone from his pockets and, hands shaking, scrolled through his contacts to find Harry. He focused and refocused his eyes on Harry’s pixelated name and exhaled. _Today’s the day_ , he thought, and hit ‘dial’. There was a beat, some static air, and then the phone rang, loud and clear: a customized Spice Girls dialtone.

Louis squeaked and covered his mouth. He firmly decided he was imagining that part. There was absolutely no way in hell Harry actually had “Wannabe” set as his fucking dialtone. He was pulling the phone away from his ear, convinced it was all a strange fever dream he was having, when Harry’s voice came through. “Was beginning to think you’d never call.” His words weren’t tainted by resentment, but Louis still found himself tensing.

“Yeah, yeah, I had some complications. I’ll do my grovelling in person, I promise,” he rushed, before he remembered. “Wait, hang on—I have to know—do you always have fucking Spice Girls as your ring or is it just for my benefit?”

“‘S just for you, doll,” Harry laughed. “Where’re you?”

“Around the corner from my house. ‘Bout ten from Darnielle.”

“Which way?”

“South.”

“Oh, okay, like I know which way south is.” Harry scoffed at the end of the line, and Louis laughed.

“You literally called yourself a compass Monday,” Louis said, and he hoped Harry could _feel_ his eyes rolling through the phone.

Harry chuckled and hummed softly. “Guess I did, didn’t I? I’d forgotten.”

Louis felt heat rush to his cheeks. “Well, seeing as you’re so directionally challenged, if you keep walking past the office building—just go straight, don’t turn—you’ll get to this little, like, patch of petrol stations and cigarette stores and if you turn right there I’m, like, in an alley beside that.”

“And you said ten minutes?” Harry asked, like he was fucking taking notes or something.

“Yeah.”

“Alright! See you soooooon,” he singsonged before Louis heard a click and a dead tone. Louis stared at the phone in his hands and wondered what he should do in the meantime. He had no idea where Harry was coming from or how long it’d take for him to get there and he was pretty much required to stay put until he did.

Of course, Louis was halfway through ungracefully moving into a squat when a car pulled up to the curb and blasted its horn. “Fucking hell,” he murmured, and looked up to see what the prick wanted. The car window rolled down and Louis craned his neck, squinting. “Hello there!” Harry shouted out the driver’s seat. Louis gawked. Harry’s smile widened and he said, “Fancy hopping in? I’ve got candy!”

Louis tried to compose himself, but found the whole situation a little too much to handle at the moment. Any moment he’d wake up and it would turn out that his entire life was invented in the mind of an deranged child. There was no fucking way this was happening. Harry sat in the driver’s seat, beaming, wearing a jumper that looked like it belonged to Louis’ grandfather and dark wash jeans, and yet he had never found anything more attractive in his entire life.

He scrunched up his face, keeping his eyes closed for a few seconds, then peeked at Harry again with one eye still closed. He sighed, “Aren’t you a bit young to be driving, love?”

Harry winked and yelled back, “Hey now, I’m old in soul, mind you!”

Louis furrowed his brow and shrugged, making up his mind to make lemonade out of the apples life was giving him. “Not sure soul is a valid form of measurement—at least for the DMV.” Louis bit the inside of his cheek and smiled at Harry, who was looking at him in a way that could only really be called softly. His eyes were glowing and crinkled on the sides from the grin he was fighting back.

For a second, Harry considered Louis’ response, then he shook his head, looking certain, and replied, “Now that’s just your young soul talking. You’re just jealous, is all.”

Louis laughed. “You’ve cracked the code. You’ve solved the riddle.”

Harry flashed a smile and asked, “What’s my prize, then?”

Ducking his head, Louis peered up at Harry, and responded, “I’m going to join you in the car, that’s what.”

“Well, hurry up then!” Harry patted the seat to his left. “Time is of the essence, and all that.”

Louis looked over his shoulder, pleading with whichever deity was in charge of this day to make sure things went well, including and especially Harry’s driving. He made his way over to the passenger’s side, but then Harry called out to him and stopped him in his tracks. “Wait, wait, we’re doing this all wrong!”

Harry opened his door and hopped out, circling around Louis and holding his door open, bowing his head a little. “Your carriage.”

Louis’ heart fluttered in his chest as he climbed in. “What a gentleman you are, sir,” he chuckled, thinking to himself that this had better be a date or he was in for a lot of trouble. “I trust this car isn’t going to turn into a pumpkin any time soon,” he added.

Harry looked him up and down and smiled. “You never know.”

Louis was sure a metaphor was in there somewhere, but it was too early for him to analyze everything Harry said. “Only one way to find out, I suppose,” he grinned. “Come on, then. It’s high time you whisked me away on our journey.”

“Gladly,” Harry replied. Louis’ breath caught in his throat seeing the way Harry was looking at him—eyes hooded, lips quirked. Harry blinked and, smirking, closed Louis’ door, waving delicately, and rounded back to his side, climbing into his seat. Louis looked at him sidelong and clasped Harry’s arm lightly with his hand. “So,” he began, “where to?”

Harry appraised him. “You’ll see.”

He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb easily. Harry glanced at Louis, checking his response with a glint in his eyes. Louis leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, and smiled at Harry, impressed that he seemingly really did know how to drive despite being fourteen. “Harry Styles,” he said, “you are quite the enigma.”

“Got to be,” Harry said. “I run on mystery and magic.”

Louis doubled over with laughter. It was like Harry’d taken the words right out of his cluttered thoughts. He settled back into his seat and replied, “I’m well aware.”

“Oh! I’ve got a bunch of CDs in the booklet under your seat; you can pick one if you like,” Harry said, biting his lip as he focused on the road. Louis pulled the thick black book out and unzipped it. Flipping through, he hummed his approval at the selection: practically every Beatles album, _Begin to Hope_ by Regina Spektor, _Jagged Little Pill_ by Alanis Morisette, and a “Best of the Beach Boys” CD, among other things.

“Hey,” he said once he’d gotten to the end, “these ones don’t have any labels on them.” He tapped a page full of blank CDs.

Harry’s eyes flicked over to the booklet and he nodded. “Yeah, I—”

“Wait, wait, I know,” Louis interrupted, a smile blooming on his face. “It’s so you never know what’s coming, right, so you’re always surprised by the music?”

Harry snorted. “Don’t be a twat. I just haven’t gotten around to labeling them.”

Louis bristled and shifted in his seat. “‘M not a twat,” he mumbled, popping open the glovebox and rifling around before Harry reached over and slammed it shut.

“Don’t mess with that!” he said loudly, and Louis could only knit his brow.

“Fuck, you’re so weird. Why can’t I look in there?”

“Okay, full disclosure?” Harry took his eyes off the road for a second to look Louis in the eye.

“Sure, yeah, fully disclose away,” Louis shrugged.

“This is my sister Gemma’s car and she doesn’t know I have it and if you mess with anything she’ll know and I’ll get hung by my toenails,” Harry rushed out.

Louis stared at him. “Hung by your toenails?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Didn’t your mum ever threaten to hang you by your toenails if you did something wrong?”

“...No.”

Harry sighed. “Damn it, Anne,” he muttered, and Louis laughed.

A comfortable silence spread over them and Louis looked out the window at the land speeding past, and he slowly started to register they were on their way completely out of Sheffield.

“I—why did you need to pick me up, Harry?” he asked, turning to the boy who was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to no rhythm. “I could’ve just, you know, met with you somewhere.”

Harry’s smile stretched the span of his face, and he bounced up and down in his seat. “Because, Louis. We’re going on a _road triiiiip_!” He said road trip with an American accent, and Louis distinctly thought, _I am going to die_.

“Well, alright, fair enough,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But you don’t think Gemma will notice her car gone all day?”

“Oh, all day, huh?” Harry smirked. “Look who’s being optimistic. I could have you back in time for tea, you know.”

Louis’ face must have fallen involuntarily, because Harry actually fucking reached over and rubbed his knee reassuringly. “I was joking, babe,” and his soft laugh came from somewhere Louis wished he could be, somewhere warm and safe from bruises or blood.

He was too distracted by the sudden contact to manage anything other than a brilliant and well-thought-out, “Yeah, well.”

Harry scrutinized Louis worriedly and quietly said, “Hey, hey, no, cheer up, Lou. Can’t have you getting all sad when we’re on an adventure. Come on now.” When Louis didn’t respond, Harry continued, “Oh! I know! Let’s play a game, okay? We’ll play a game about each other—or, um, could be about music or something? What would you prefer?”

“Give me the rules of each, I suppose,” Louis suggested.

“Alright, so the game for knowing each other would be kind of like—like we’d list what we know about each other or what we assume about each other or whatever and the other’d give us points where we’re right, I s’pose. And, uh, the music game’d be more like a quiz of,” he waved his hands, “musical knowledge.”

“Hm,” Louis hummed, “not sure of the validity of a test of musical knowledge seeing as you work at a record store.”

Harry laughed. “Well, the idea was you’d come up with my questions and I’d come up with yours obviously.” He chuckled again and added, “You try coming up with a game on the spot.”

“Wasn’t judging, don’t be so touchy. Let’s just play the getting-to-know-you game.” Louis singsonged the words and glanced at Harry, then continued, “I’m dying to figure you out, anyway.”

Harry snickered and replied, “You’re gonna be sorely disappointed, I promise.”

Louis scoffed. “You do yourself a disservice, Haz.” Harry smiled over at him at the nickname and Louis murmured, “Find you plenty interesting already.”

Harry _definitely_ blushed at that and said, stumbling a little over his words, “So, um, the game?”

“Yeah. Right,” Louis nodded, staring down at his hands before looking at Harry. “Your name is Harry.”

Harry laughed. “And yours is Louis.”

“See? We’re like an old married couple, we know each other so well.”

“It’s your turn,” Harry said, smiling as he tapped the steering wheel.

“Okay, um,” Louis said, concentrating his energy on the task at hand. “You... used to work at a bakery, right? In Holmes Chapel. I didn’t know anyone was ever born in Holmes Chapel— _ow_!”

Harry sniffed after he hit Louis on the back of the head. “No one insults Holmes Chapel, _Doncaster_.”

“Okay, fine! Jesus,” Louis laughed. “It’s your turn, anyway.”

“Know you’re in maths after your English class,” Harry hurried, biting his lip.

Louis turned to observe Harry full on and replied, “How, by the way, do you know that?”

Harry winced and answered, “Got a friend in the office—name’s Liam—I kinda, um, bribed him with promises of baked goods and friendly gestures to give me a look at your schedule.” Harry rubbed his face with his right hand and glanced at Louis, concern evident in his face.

Louis, a little shocked, barked out a laugh and looked Harry up and down. “God, are you serious?”

Harry looked a bit mortified and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He sighed and said, “Yeah, um, I—you said we’d talk at school, right? And I had to find you, yeah? So, er, I got resourceful.”

“Harry, babe,” Louis said, “you could have just asked, for god’s sake.” He shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Fucking moron.”

“Excuse you!” Harry laughed and flicked his arm. Louis winced and hissed at him, but Harry just smiled back. “You know,” he drawled, “some would find this sort of thing very romantic.”

Louis hummed and said thoughtfully, “I’m pretty sure those people are called victims of Stockholm syndrome, Harry.”

Harry looked over at him, very seriously, and asked, “Fuck, are you not prone to falling in love with your captors? And I had such nice plans for our foray, too.”

“A shame, that.”

Harry flicked his eyes over at Louis and said, “Ah, well, tomorrow’s another day and, luckily, I have back-up plans for today, in any case.”

Louis sat up in his seat, curious. “Oh?”

Biting his lip, Harry smiled eagerly. “You’ll see!”

“Hmpf,” Louis breathed out grumpily as he resumed perusing the CD booklet until he decided on the Beach Boys. Harry nodded his approval as Louis pushed it in the stereo.

  
_Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older?_

_And we wouldn’t have to wait so long_

Louis closed his eyes and listened, but the usual voices were joined by a sixth: Harry’s. His harmonies were soft and deep and exactly how Louis would imagine the boy would sound if he sang, but somehow _better_. Louis avoided opening his eyes and felt his muscles actually tense up—this seemed a monumental, fragile moment, for whatever reason, and he felt making any sudden movements would break it.

The singing stopped about halfway through the song, though, and Louis felt a nudge on his shoulder.

“C’mon, Lou, I’m not that bad, am I?” Harry smirked.

Louis opened his eyes and groaned loudly. “Oh my god, you’re one of _those_ people.”

“One of _which_ people?”

“Oh, please. ‘I’m not that bad, right? I mean, I only ever sing in the shower and at weddings and _professionally_ ’—”

“Nuh-uh!” Harry looked genuinely offended. “I may be billed as many things but an attention whore I am not!”

“Fuck, Harry, you’ve got to know you’re good,” Louis laughed incredulously. “I mean, like... seriously. You’ve got to.”

A blush colored Harry’s pale complexion as they turned down some country road, and Louis reveled in it, deciding that he could live with the sight of Harry blushing because of him for the rest of forever. Harry mumbled, “I—well, I do love it, and if everything works out, I think maybe I could... I don’t know, be professional.”

“You definitely could,” Louis said without thinking.

Harry smiled hopefully. “Yeah?”

“For sure, yeah,” Louis replied, nodding.

Harry looked a little taken back, but smiled at Louis fondly. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, exchanging glances every so often and listening to the Beach Boys, and then Louis said, “So, Harry, how many points do I have?”

“Hm?” Harry asked, looking dazed.

“Well,” Louis started, “by now I know your name’s Harry Styles, and that you’re a stalker, and you were born in Holmes Chapel and worked in a bakery there. I know you moved here—well, not here—two months ago, give or take, and that you maybe want to be a singer and that you have really great, really curly hair, and—”

“Really great?” Harry cut in, smiling.

“Come on, now. I can’t be asked to keep on stroking your ego,” Louis huffed, arms folded in faux-exasperation.

Harry bit his lip and raised his left hand a little, counting, with his brow furrowed. He turned to regard Louis more fully and concluded, “That’s seven, if I’m being generous. Should I go now?”

Louis tilted his head and replied, “Sure, but I think we should discount a good five of your points out of fairness.”

“What kind of fairness is _that_?” Harry chuckled.

“Fairness which dictates that since you’ve actually _bribed_ people to find me, you shouldn’t get to beat me at this game so easily,” Louis laughed.

Harry sighed and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Um. So, you’re Louis and you’re from Doncaster and you’re a semi-regular at Disc N’ Dat and you’ve got, like, the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen—frankly, it’s a bit disconcerting—and your eyelashes are incredible and you like Grease, of all things, and you have maths after English, I’m sorry for knowing, and you’re amazing.”

Harry flushed and cringed, as if he was hearing what he said for the first time. Louis looked at him sidelong for a moment, considering, and replied, “Debatable.”

“Hardly a matter of opinion, sorry,” Harry said. He laughed and asked, “So, how many is that?”

Louis counted, whispering to himself, then said, “Eight. Gonna have to do better if you want to win this. ‘S only three, after your handicap.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry conceded. “If you let me keep these eight, I’ll give you, like, unlimited turns to try and catch up with the master.”

Louis smirked. “You actually have more than the eight?”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “Definitely,” he responded. “Especially if we’re letting flattery pass for knowledge.”

“Oh, Harry, don’t cheapen it,” Louis sighed, rolling his eyes and smiling.

Harry laughed and started, “‘S it still my turn?”

Louis thought for a moment and said, lilting, “I have one. You like _Friends_ —”

“No, I _love_ it,” Harry corrected.

“You love _Friends_ ,” Louis continued, “and you like weird music and you are way too trusting with said music and your favorite movie’s _Titanic_.”

“You’re up to eleven,” Harry remarked. “Okay, Louis Tomlinson, prepare to be impressed, or frightened, or whatever.” Harry straightened in his seat and continued, “You’ve got a lovely voice and you like 80s pop music best and, if I were to guess, I’d say you’re a bit trusting, too, seeing as you’re on a road trip with a confirmed stalker.”

Louis laughed. He had a point. Though he’d never thought of himself as “trusting”, he clearly wasn’t as distrustful as he’d thought. That, or he had a good enough feel for Harry’s personality that he could safely assume he wasn’t actually a killer. Beyond that, Louis realized (not for the first time) that he had already let Harry in more than he’d let _anyone_ in in years—maybe more than he’d let anyone in ever. He soberly wondered whether he ought to work on withdrawing a little before he got in too deep.

Harry’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Hey, Lou?”

“Yeah?”

Harry swallowed and closed his eyes for a second. He shook his head and said, laughing, “I hope you’re not actually put off by me knowing things about you that you didn’t tell me.” Louis looked at him and Harry continued, “What I mean is I don’t want you to really think I’m a huge creep. I just—I’d just really like to get to know you.” Harry looked over at Louis, who was staring at him, and added, “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He laughed a little, nervously, and shot another glance at Louis.

Louis licked his lips and searched for a response. “Harry,” he said gingerly, “please tell me this is a date.”

“Of course it is,” Harry said, wide-eyed. “Fuck, was I—was I not clear about that? Jesus, you must really have thought I was creepy. I can’t do anything right.”

Louis found a laugh escaping him, along with a weight he wasn’t aware he’d been carrying. “Harry, oh my god, it’s fine, I promise. I was hoping it would be.”

After examining Louis, Harry preened happily. “You were?”

“I mean, yeah.” Louis allowed himself a small smile. “I haven’t... I don’t really date, ever, and you’re really cool, so I was just hoping, you know?”

“Why don’t you?”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you date? Eligible, handsome young man such as yourself,” Harry said in a lofty voice. “Seems like you’d have suitors banging down your door.”

What Louis thought was, _Domestic abuse doesn’t really make for healthy relationships and I don’t talk to people and I’ve never really, properly liked anyone until you._

What Louis said was, “Just don’t have the time. What with, you know, family and grades and such.”

Harry looked like he wasn’t done asking questions—questions that Louis probably wasn’t prepared for—so Louis pointed ahead at the building they were approaching and said, “‘S that it, then?”

Harry turned his attention back to the road and nodded. He still looked a bit contemplative, but seemed to be willing to let the conversation drop where it had. “That is,” he began, “where we’ve been headed, yeah.” He started pulling off the road. Louis caught Harry’s eye and Harry beamed, saying, “You’re gonna love it, Lou. It’s called Unclaimed Baggage and it’s right cool.”

Louis smiled and said, “What is it, though?”

“It’s sort of like a thrift shop, but miles cooler,” Harry furrowed his brow as he pulled into a dirt parking lot. “Have you ever heard about people losing their suitcases and stuff in the airport?” Louis nodded and he continued, “Well, if no one claims the luggage after a week or something, the suitcases get sent here and you can buy stuff out of them! It’s, like, weirdly personal to see what these people considered important enough to take traveling with them, you know? One time there was a duffle bag full of cat toys.”

Louis blinked. “That is actually the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. How did you find out about this? I’ve lived here my whole life, how do you know about it and I don’t?”

Shrugging, Harry shifted into park and unbuckled his seatbelt. “After we moved to Doncaster I didn’t know anyone, so all I could do was explore. Are you really telling me you’ve never even heard of this place?”

Louis shook his head. “I guess I’ve never actually been outside of Doncaster,” he said sheepishly, examining his fingernails.

Harry gasped incredulously, and his grin practically split his face in half. “Louis Tomlinson,” he said, eyeing Louis up and down, “I am gonna show you the fucking world.” Louis barely managed to suppress a shiver.

His lip quirked and he exhaled for the first time in what felt like ages. Harry, who still had his gaze fixed on him, flashed another smile and spread his arms. “Shall we?” he asked. He started opening his own door then paused to add, “Know what? I’ve got another game for you.”

“Oh?” Louis turned his body to face Harry more directly and rested his chin in his hand.

“Mhm,” Harry assured. “A game of spectacular talent and more than a little creativity.”

Louis laughed. “You have my attention.”

Harry smiled. “We’re gonna find,” he said, “the weirdest shit.”

Louis blinked, waiting for Harry to continue. Harry’s eyes were bright and he looked like he was waiting for Louis’ reaction. Louis knitted his brow and asked, “Is that the game?”

Harry nodded, his curls bouncing. “It’s like a contest. Whoever finds the absolute weirdest thing in the store wins. And it has to be, like, proper weird too, not, you know, an ABBA CD or something.”

“What’s the prize, then?” Louis smirked, though he really couldn’t find it in himself to be competitive, especially with Harry.

Amusement spread into all of Harry’s features and he leaned forward conspiratorially. He looped one of his arms over Louis’ shoulder and pulled him in, whispering into his ear, “Winner gets to choose what we do after.” Harry pulled away, giddily, and raised his eyebrows. Louis' heartbeat sped up at the possibility, and yeah, maybe he could do competition just this once.

Louis swallowed and said, "You're on, Styles."

Harry chuckled and clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's do this!" He flung his door wide open and ran around the front of the car, opening Louis' door with a curtsy. Louis was fascinated with the way he moved, all fumbly and striding—it was like he’d just bought his body and hadn’t read the user’s manual yet.

He bowed out of the car, smiling at Harry. “Thank you, good sir.”

Harry snorted, taking one last look at Louis before heading towards the store’s entrance. “Don’t think flattery will get you anywhere! I won’t be swayed, I swear it. This judge is impartial!”

Louis rolled his eyes and sighed, crossing his arms and fixing Harry with a bemused smile. “There you go again,” he started, “acting like I’m some common harlot.” Harry’s eyes crinkled and he tilted his head. Louis continued, “I have got _some_ sense of integrity, I’ll have you know. Though if I happen to compliment you, can I really be blamed?”

Harry paused, thinking. “S’pose not, but keep it to a minimum. Can’t have my alliances getting all tangled when there’s valor to be won.”

Louis gasped and covered his mouth exaggeratedly. "Thought you were _impartial_ , Haz."

"I do the best I can!" Harry exclaimed. He glanced back towards the building and said, "Come onnn. I need to see your face when you see it on the inside."

Louis skipped forward and linked his arm with Harry's. "Lead the way," he replied, laughing lightly.

Harry looked down at him, grinning, and gestured towards the building. "This," he began, "is the entrance."

Louis hummed agreeably. "So it is."

“Are you rea—”

“Fuck’s sake, Harry, yes! I am ready!” Louis shouted. The green in Harry’s eyes sparkled and he smiled.

“Good,” Harry said as he took hold of Louis’ hand and pulled him through the doors.

Louis found himself utterly and fully underwhelmed. The place was large—like department store large—and was filled with racks upon racks of seemingly unorganized clothes. He was expecting a little wooden place with suitcases piled up on tables, ripe for the picking. It wasn’t at all like he’d thought it would be, but Harry was there, beaming at him like they were in the Garden of Eden, so Louis smiled and reached over to squeeze his hand.

“It’s great, Harry,” he assured him.

“Innit?!” Harry squealed as he bounced on his heels. “Okay, okay. The game starts now. Let’s split up, and meet back here in fifteen, yeah? May the best fourteen-year-old win.” And then he was off before Louis could even register the mischief on his face.

“Like fuck,” he muttered as he started in the opposite direction, _winner gets to choose what we do after_ echoing in his head. He wouldn’t put cheating past himself, if he knew how to cheat at all in this game.

As he rifled through racks of nondescript dress shirts and t-shirts, he allowed his eyes to wander to that curly boy on the other side of the store, a dimpled smirk etched on his face as he appraised his own rack. He wasn’t going to let himself think about how beautiful he was, though, even in the awful washed-out fluorescent lighting. Couldn’t think about how he’d only known the boy for a little over a week and already he’d gotten further under his skin than anyone else had ever been. Louis couldn’t think about how much he wanted to kiss him, soft and hard and languid and pounding.

So he focused on the task at hand, because what the fuck else could he do? He pushed each clothes hanger to the side and growled at how many people had normal clothes that would not get him any closer to winning.

“Louis!” he heard from across the store, and his head perked up, thinking _Surely he couldn’t have found something already._

“Yeah?”

“They have a Burberry shirt, Louis!” Harry exclaimed, holding the shirt in question up and either ignoring or just not noticing the sparse groups of people in the store blatantly staring. “How sick is that?”

And Louis couldn’t not laugh at that, because really? “That’s... pretty sick, Harry.”

A woman with short brown hair and kind lines in her face one rack over from Louis smiled fondly at him. “Your friend is very excitable, isn’t he?”

Louis snorted. “Oh, you really don’t know the half of it,” he said dryly, returning to his shirts. More than a few of them had indescribable stains and there was one with a phrase on it in what looked to be Russian, and he started wondering whether there were better fruits to be had elsewhere. There were, after all, about fifty other racks of clothes alone, and some other stacks of miscellaneous items besides.

Louis scrubbed his face and concentrated. He really wanted to win this thing and he realized it’d be no small feat to do so. He flipped another shirt over, then gaped. In front of him was a “Frankie say relax” shirt just like the one Ross wore in _Friends_ , except this one was cut into a crop top shape. He flicked his eyes up to look at Harry from across the store and grabbed the shirt, folding it messily and tucking it under his arm, and headed over to one of the stacks against the wall.

Louis’ phone vibrated and he jumped. He pulled it out and looked at it. _hows it going ???_

He laughed to himself a little. Of course Lottie’d be checking up on him.

_good!! gotta go we’re competing xx_

He typed out the message hastily and pocketed his phone again.

Louis surveyed the wall in front of him, looking for _something_ weird enough to justify an indisputable win in Harry’s mind. Honestly, he wasn’t sure himself what he would want to do if he were to beat Harry, but he wanted to win all the same.

There was a line of hats to Louis’ right, but, looking them over, he assessed that they’d be no good for the sake of the game. Instead, he looked to his left and noticed a deck of tarot cards there. Besides them, there was a mug, a punching bag, and a bookend in the shape of a bust of an anthropomorphized crow gondolier. He doubled over laughing, wondering who in the hell would need a single bookend on their vacation. Louis wiped a tear from his eye and looked over to the wall far to his right.

Harry was stopped over there, staring at Louis while holding something behind his back. Louis raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, lifting his arms in an unspoken question. A smile broke out across Harry’s face and he shrugged, looking down sheepishly. Louis started walking towards him, but Harry’s eyes widened and he darted away. “Fucking idiot,” Louis murmured under his breath, smiling helplessly and turning back to the assorted junk in front of him.

After a few more minutes of flipping through a romance novel (entitled _Eternal Kiss of Darkness_ , which felt like what Louis was undergoing after reading all of two paragraphs of the thing), he pulled his phone out of his pocket and, checking the time, realized the fifteen minutes were long since up. He scanned the store, but Harry was nowhere to be found, so he dialed him on his way to their designated meeting place at the front of the store.

“Louis! Long time no hear!” Harry greeted him, and Louis rolled his eyes.

“Where are you? The fifteen minutes are up, you’re cheating if you look any longer,” he said, smirking. “Those are the rules I just made up, since this game is entirely arbitrary.”

“Boo,” Harry whispered into Louis’ ear from behind him, and Louis’ heart fairly jumped up into his throat. He turned around and smacked the back of Harry’s head with his free hand.

Harry rubbed his head and sputtered, “ _Ow_! What was—”

“You know what it was for, you dick,” Louis said, but he couldn’t keep a smile from playing at the corner of his mouth. “What’d you find, then?”

Grinning, Harry took his right hand from behind his back and held it out. It was a miniature plastic violin that had a button on it, but when Louis took the violin and pushed, nothing happened. He looked at Harry with what he imagined was the best bitchface he’d ever mustered.

“Seriously, Harry?”

“Yeah!” Harry said with no trace of irony or cynicism. “It’s a fake mini plastic violin and it doesn’t even _work_! They couldn’t make weirder shit than this at, like, the Weird Shit Factory!”

“You,” Louis said, “are the biggest idiot.”

“Well, let’s see yours, then,” Harry said with a smug grin.

Louis showed him. He’d picked up the bookend, the Frankie shirt, and an empty bottle of what looked like Japanese Tropicana banana fruit juice. He raised his eyebrows, convinced he’d won, but Harry just shook his head.

“Nope, violin still wins, sorry to say. Although,” he said, lightly tugging the shirt from Louis’ arms, “I do love this immensely and will wear it in the near future.”

Louis shook his head, more to get the image of Harry in a crop top out of his head than to voice opposition, laughing incredulously. “How’s that fair? How does the inventor of the game get to choose himself as the winner?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Wha—yes, you did, you moron!” Louis said, following him to the register. Harry said nothing, just looked back over his shoulder and smiled.

They got to the checkout line, and Harry gestured to Louis, saying, “Here, lemme take those. I’m paying. It’s my treat, alright?”

Louis started to protest but Harry lifted his hand and said, “Sorry, Lou, it’s the rules.”

Scoffing, Louis replied, “Thought you didn’t make the rules.”

“I don’t,” Harry answered with a shit-eating grin. He moved forward to the register and took out his wallet, and Louis slinked off to the side in the meantime. Harry glanced over at him, smiling and doing a quick once-over. Louis felt himself blushing and lifted his arm in a salute. Harry turned back to the cashier and paid and headed over to Louis, bag in hand. Louis inhaled sharply and said, “So, winner, where’re we going now?”

Harry laughed and admitted, “Don’t know about you but I’m starving.” Louis hummed and Harry continued, “‘M gonna let you in on a secret, Louis Tomlinson.” Louis bounced on his heels and leaned forward expectantly. Harry said, “I rigged the game.”

Louis rubbed his face and rolled his eyes, sighing. “You don’t say,” he drawled.

“Shocking, I know.”

“Yes, yes, incredibly shocking,” Louis responded. “What the people are really dying to know is why?”

“Ah, yes, the eternal question.” Harry bit his lip and smirked. “To be honest, I had no intention of letting you win. Can’t forfeit my plans or, in this case, my stomach’s.”

Louis squinted at him for a few seconds and breathed out, clasping Harry on the arm. “Alright! So—what kind of food are we getting? Or do I have to guess that, as well?”

“How do you feel about getting some Indian to eat?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I think cannibalism is illegal,” Louis said thoughtfully, which earned him a shove as they exited the store.

Harry smiled, eyes gleaming, and exclaimed, “Alright, alright, I’m sorry! Do you want Indian food—food culturally traditional from India, the place.”

Louis curled one of Harry’s strands of hair with his right hand and pursed his lips slightly. “I’d love some, yeah.”  Harry lifted his eyebrows a centimeter and lightly chewed on his index finger. Louis ruffled Harry’s hair and pulled back gently, training his eyes on the ground. “So,” he began, looking at Harry through his eyelashes and shifting his feet a bit, “shall we?”

Harry blinked and said, “Yeah, definitely,” and nodded a little, holding Louis’ gaze.

Having Harry’s eyes on you, Louis decided, was something akin to being a flower in the sun—and not one of those flowers that hates the sun and water and the whole shebang, either—one of the types that fucking inclines its entire self just to get as many of the sun’s rays as it can. _A sunflower_ , Louis thought. _I am a sunflower_. His cheeks heated and he choked back the laugh that was escaping his throat at objectively the oddest thought he’d ever had.

Harry tilted his head inquisitively, giggled, and asked, “What is it, Louis?”

Louis snorted and shook his head, whining, “‘S stupid.”

Harry’s eyes glinted. “Oh, I highly doubt that,” he replied.

Louis looked at him, still biting down his smile. “Has anyone ever told you,” he started, “that you’re like sunshine?”

Harry laughed incredulously and said, “Think my mum did once, in a song, you know?”

A blush crept into Louis’ face and he internally cursed himself for saying words. He peeked up at Harry, timidly, and scrunched up his nose. Harry was smiling and said, “Jesus, Lou, you’re unreal.”

“I’m not unreal,” he protested, waving a hand in front of Harry’s face. “I’m totally real. I’m standing right here.”

Harry’s eyes softened, and he smiled, grabbing Louis’ hand from in front of him and weaving their fingers together. “So you are,” he said. He inclined his head towards the car. “Let’s go get lunch, yeah?”

Louis was struck momentarily speechless by the contact, but swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, sounds great.”

They held hands for the (short) entirety of the car ride. Occasionally Harry would rub his thumb over the back of Louis’ hand, and Louis would have to work hard to repress a shiver.

Harry pulled up to the restaurant, a small thing on the second floor of a building that you had to walk up a spiral staircase to get to. The little battered overhang above the door said “SITAR” and then under that “INDIAN BUFFET AND”.

Louis frowned as he read it. “Indian buffet and what?”

“And haberdashery,” Harry nodded, pulling a laughing Louis through the door.

A staff member pointed them towards a table in the back, and they sat down across from each other. Louis gently kicked Harry under the table and Harry’s lip quirked.

“So,” Louis began, perusing the menu, “What do you usually get when you’re here?”

Harry shrugged. “Never actually been here before. I’ve just been past here a lot, and I thought it would be a good... you know, first date place.”

Looking around, Louis had to agree with him. There were no ceiling lights, but rather fairy lights and paper lanterns draped around the premises. Dividing screens decorated with images of dragons and trees by lakes separated portions of the restaurant, and the overall atmosphere was peaceful, he thought.

But he returned to the second half of Harry’s sentence. “So, first date, huh? That implies there’ll be second, third...”

Harry wore a worried expression over the top of his menu. “Won’t there be?”

Louis was struck by how this boy could go from being so confident as to take his hand without a second thought to actually _questioning_ Louis’ fondness for him. “Only if you want there to be, dear. Consent is sexy and all that,” he said, smiling as he read the lunch menu.

Harry blushed and smiled, saying nothing as he returned to reading. Louis closed his menu, having decided on an order of samosas and some curry, and looked up, catching a waiter glaring at him from across the room. He was taken aback, but before he could smile or say something to Harry, the waiter had redirected his attention to other customers, turning around, and Louis started wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing. Harry reached out his hand and took Louis’ and said, “What’s wrong?” and shot a glance behind him.

“Oh, I—nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Louis frowned, staring at the waiter’s back.

“No, it’s not nothing. You looked upset. What happened?”

“I just... That waiter gave us a dirty look,” Louis said in a hushed voice, leaning across the table.

“What?” Harry screwed up his face, turning around to look at the waiter. “Are you sure? Why would he?”

Louis snorted derisively. “Oh, I’m not sure, Harold, maybe it’s because we’re two boys on a date?”

He wished he hadn’t said anything, though, because the crumpled look of hurt on Harry’s face was almost too much to bear. “No, no, I’m sure that’s not it. You’re—you’re probably just seeing things.”

Louis recognized the tone as one of wishful thinking, and he let it go. He envied Harry, really, living in a world where abuse and homophobia didn’t seem to get anywhere near him. Harry’s unfaltering trust of the human race was one of the things Louis liked best about him, one of the things that _made_ Harry who he was, in his opinion.

“I just came out as gay recently,” Louis said conversationally, hoping to shift the tone to something perhaps a little more lighthearted (but only just a little, he realized). “Not to, like, my family or whatever. Just to myself, I suppose.”

“Why not—oh, thank you,” Harry said as their waitress brought them glasses of water. “Why not come out to your family?”

Louis looked down and played with his straw. “My stepfather isn’t the most receptive of sorts, you know?”

Harry frowned but said nothing as he sipped from his glass. “I’m not gay,” he said finally. “I don’t really know what I am, but I don’t think it’s bisexual and it’s not gay and it’s _definitely_ not straight.”

Louis nodded, fairly certain he understood. “It’s alright to not label, you know?”

Harry smiled. “Exactly. I like the people I like.” After a pause, he nudged Louis’ leg under the table with his own. “And I like you.”

Louis couldn’t repress a laugh at that. “I’ve noticed. I like you, too, so, you know. That’s convenient, I suppose.”

“It’s brilliant,” Harry said immediately.

Their waitress appeared at that moment, and Louis could have kissed her because he probably would have said something ridiculously cheesy that would have completely turned Harry off. The two ordered (Harry decided on chicken tikka masala) and sat there, the first extended silence of the entire day. Louis counted that a win, if he was being honest. The conversation had basically flowed nonstop since Harry had picked him up earlier that morning.

A sick, swooping feeling overcame him, though, as he remembered the lie he’d told Mark that morning. It was a wonder he hadn’t been called yet, yelling Louis’ ear off over not being home.

“I told my stepfather I had a job interview today,” he said, snorting.

Harry laughed. “Some interview, huh?” He straightened himself in the booth and folded his hands on the table, leaning forward with a serious expression. “So, Mr. Tomlinson, is it? What qualities do you have that qualify you for this position?”

“Well,” Louis started, “I’m a mediocre dancer, I’m _excellent_ at braiding, and my penis is huge. Like, The Hulk huge. It’s dangerous, how huge— _oh my god_ ,” he said as Harry spewed water all over the table and Louis’ place setting.

“You don’t just... fucking _say_ those things, Lou!” Harry took his napkin off his lap and started cleaning the spill up hastily. “You’re a menace to society.”

Louis laughed and started working on soaking up the water on his side of the table. He’d gotten it halfway decent when their waitress showed up, food in tow, putting it down on top of what remained of Harry’s... accident. They thanked her through their laughter, and she was sweet enough to deal with a couple of teenaged lunatics with a minimum amount of judgment showing on her face, at least. Louis made a mental note to give her a solid tip when they left.

He looked at Harry for a second and waited for him to start eating. Instead, Harry kept his hands folded in his lap, so Louis decided to start tucking into his food. He decided to start with his curry and was pleasantly surprised, humming his approval. Harry’s eyes crinkled and he began to eat his masala. Louis chewed and said, “You have got to try this, Haz.”

Harry leaned forward and smiled, waiting, so Louis gathered some curry on his spoon and guided it into Harry’s mouth. Harry made a pleased noise and Louis pulled his spoon out of Harry’s mouth gently. Harry smiled up at him, swallowing, then tilted his head a little and announced, “Very good, very good. My masala’s different, but good, too. Do you want some?”

Louis nodded, grinning widely, and scooted forward in his chair, mouth open. Harry scooped some of the chicken onto a spoonful of rice and placed the spoon on Louis’ tongue. Louis chewed and swallowed quickly, hoping he didn’t look too off-putting while eating, and beamed at Harry. “Incredible,” he said. “You reckon we should give the samosas a try?”

Harry laughed and replied, “S’pose so, yeah,” and took one off of the plate in between them. He lifted it to his lips and closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling it, then moved to bite into it. Harry closed his mouth around it and fairly moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, and Louis swore he was doing it on purpose.

“Oh my _god_ , Louis, this is phenomenal,” he said, mouth full, and Louis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Harry put the remainder down on his side plate and fixed Louis with a questioning look. “Go on, try one,” Harry urged, smiling. He grabbed a samosa and extended it towards Louis. Louis decided it’d be too weird to take a bite out of the samosa Harry was holding before him and took it from Harry, ducking his head a little. He tentatively took a bite and reveled in how good it was. Still, he found himself thinking back to Harry’s moan and nearly choked laughing. Harry looked at him quizzically and demanded, “What, Louis?”

Louis sputtered. “Well, I mean,” he began, wryly, “they're quite good... but I personally don’t feel they merit an imitation of the diner scene from _When Harry Met Sally_.” Harry still looked confused, so he continued, scoffing, “Your fucking moaning, Harry.”

Louis worried for a good second that he’d offended Harry, but then Harry broke out laughing. “I can’t help it!” he protested. He held Louis’ eyes and took his hand. “Honest, I can’t! You should see when I get back rubs. It’s downright embarrassing.”

A smile crept onto Louis’ face and he gazed down at their interlocked hands. “I can imagine,” he said, chuckling.

Smiling wickedly, Harry returned to his food, scooping a large amount into his mouth. Louis laughed a bit and resumed eating as well, a comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional chewing settling over them.

“I really do have to come up with some sort of job thing for my stepfather,” Louis said, mouth half-full. “I told him I applied at the record store.”

Harry’s face lifted and he swallowed before bouncing up and down in his seat, saying, “You _should_ work there, though! I mean, we’re not exactly short-staffed, but Andre loves you, and you already know the place better than I do, right? It’s perfect.”

Louis didn’t actually expect anything to come out of this, but he was suddenly giving serious thought to working at the place in which he’d done most of his growing up.

“I... that sounds brilliant, actually,” he said with a bit of a laugh.

Harry’s eyes sparked and he lifted his hand to high-five Louis across the table. “This’ll be _great_ , Louis. Oh my god, we’ll be coworkers! It’s going to be amazing—we can decide on what music to play and everything.” Louis laughed and Harry looked at him, eyes searching, lips still quirked and open slightly, then he continued, “We should go there after. Let’s go and get you a proper job, yeah?”

Louis looked at him steadily and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “sounds perfect.”

Harry ducked his head, biting his lip and smiling, and nudged his food with his spoon. He tapped his foot and bobbed his head and glanced up at Louis, smirking. “Fuck, Lou, I can’t wait,” he said suddenly, looking like he’d just won the biggest prize at the fair. For an instant, Louis was overcome with intense feelings of apathy, feeling dramatically removed from the life he was living. He furrowed his brow and focused on Harry, who was still bouncing around and eyeing him, and he felt his throat tighten. Louis forcibly softened his face and smiled at Harry, pushing his negative thoughts to the back of his mind.

He licked his lips and said, “So, Haz.” He leaned forward, raised his eyebrows, and continued, “Wanna get out of here?”

Harry gasped, scandalized. “Why, sir! I am not some common trollop to be disposed of! I can’t _believe_ —"

“Check, please?” Louis called out, voice rising over Harry’s as their waitress shot them a strange look. He grinned in spite of himself.

“I’m paying,” Harry informed him matter-of-factly. “Don’t try and fight me on it.”

“Oh goody, I’ve always wanted a sugar daddy,” Louis deadpanned.

“Well, I’m younger than you,” Harry said, digging around in his wallet. “So I guess I would be like, a sugar son or something. Sugar nephew.”

Louis choked and said, “Let’s let this one drop. It’s getting a bit incestuous.”

Shrugging, Harry smiled. “If you say so. I think we could have a great thing going, personally.”

“Let’s see if the whole ‘record store’ gig works out first before we consider alternate options, shall we?” Louis said in what he found to be a very reasonable tone given the subject matter.

Nodding, Harry conceded. “Fair enough.”

The waitress returned with their check and Harry put far more than Louis knew to be the price on the tab and told her to keep the change, smiling. Her tired face lit up, and she continued to thank them as they stood and left the restaurant. Louis looked over his shoulder to see if the homophobic waiter was still standing in the corner, but he had disappeared, and the thought of the two of them making him uncomfortable gave Louis wings as he grabbed Harry’s hand and squeezed.

They made their way back to Harry’s sister’s car, Louis leaning his head lightly against Harry’s shoulder. Harry smiled down at him and said, “Louis?”

“Yeah?” Louis asked, nudging Harry with his nose.

“‘M glad I met you,” Harry mumbled against Louis’ hair.

Louis felt his throat constrain and he shifted to look at Harry. “We’ve got plenty of time, Haz. It’s only just begun,” he said seriously.

“I know,” Harry said, “I just—I really like you.” He scrunched up his face and scrubbed his hair and coughed. “So,” he began, “are you ready to get your job and appease your step-dad all in one go?”

Louis laughed, eyes crinkling, and said, “Of course! It’s the role I was born to play!” He bumped into Harry gently and walked around to the passenger side of the car before, opening the door and hopping in before Harry could open it for him again. Harry pouted at him from the front of the car but walked over to his side and stepped in, starting the car.

“Why can’t you just let me be a gentleman?” he muttered, but Louis could see the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“You just paid for lunch. I think I’m allowed to be strong and independent this once,” Louis said, head inclined. “And, yeah, about that—how rich are you? Because you bought both meals and tipped the waitress plenty extra. Like, are you a trust fund baby or were your parents murdered by Voldemort or what?”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “I mean, I don’t know. I save a lot. I don’t really spend a lot of money, and I have a job, so yeah, I do alright, I guess.”

“One time I actually stole sandwiches to feed my sisters and me. Like fuckin’ Aladdin or something.” Louis laughed at the memory. It was one of those experiences that was funny in hindsight but not when you’re shuffling out of a Tesco convinced that any wrong move could have you arrested.

“So you’ve got sisters, then?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, a whole township of ‘em. Lottie, the oldest, is nine, and then there’s Fizz, who’s seven, and the twins, Phoebe and Daisy, are three.”

“Jesus, Lou,” Harry laughed. “That’s insane. I only have one and I can hardly survive.”

Louis immediately tensed, because his number one priority in life, even before his own survival, was the protection and defense of his sisters. He had to take a breath before he continued, reminding himself that Harry meant absolutely no harm and had no idea about his family. “Yeah, they’re... they’re something, but I love them with all my heart. They’re what keep me going, you know? Seeing them grow up and get out of the house is...” He trailed off to clear his throat and avoided looking at Harry. “It’s just what keeps me going,” he repeated lamely as he looked out the window at the trees rushing by.

“They’re lucky to have you, Louis,” Harry said quietly after a time.

“No, I’m lucky to have them,” Louis corrected him firmly.

Harry looked at him sidelong for a little while then asked gently, “Can’t it be both?”

Louis thought on it and said, “‘F it is, it’s like 70-30, with them in the majority.”

Harry smiled and replied, “Second place isn’t bad.”

“They’re worthy competitors,” Louis said, feeling some of the tension leave his body. He listened to Harry’s steady breathing and watched the side of the road. Shutting his eyes, Louis imagined being at university and having dates with Harry by some river or other. He thought about showing him his record player, introducing him to his sisters and mum. Louis, for the first time in years, allowed himself to imagine a better life than the one he’d had so far. He shifted to look at Harry and gave an inaudible sigh.

Even though he’d only met Harry a bit over a week before, Louis felt that he’d known Harry for years—like he’d been moving towards him for a while, waiting on Harry to give him a reason to keep going. Sure, Harry was a bit naive, but Louis mostly found it endearing and, more than anything, wished that he could keep him that way. There were enough damaged people in the world, Louis decided. It was his duty to keep the ones who weren’t already jaded safe from harm. He looked at Harry, who suddenly became conscious of being watched and promptly looked over, and smiled. Louis hummed a line of “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”, and then his eyes widened and he said dramatically, “Harry, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the music isn’t on.”

Harry laughed and replied as seriously as he could manage, “What can be done about such a tragedy?”

Louis grinned. “Fear not, young Harold, we’ve got your mystery CDs to go on. I personally am dying to find out what they are.”

Harry chuckled and said, “Could just name them for you.”

“And ruin the surprise?” Louis gasped. “How very dare you!”

“Fine! But don’t be surprised if, like, some show tunes crop up in there,” Harry said sheepishly.

“Are we talking, like, RENT and Wicked? Or are you more Rodgers and Hammerstein?”

“I love the old ones, from, like, the 50s and 60s,” Harry confessed. “Mary Poppins is probably my favorite.”

Louis considered Harry’s profile. “You are an enigma,” he decided.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, to be honest,” Harry smiled as he turned down another sideroad.

Louis laughed. “Neither would I,” he said.

Harry grinned and tapped the steering wheel. “Hey, Lou?” he asked after biting down on his lip in thought.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do you ever wonder where all the hair goes?”

Louis sputtered and intently looked at Harry, searching for some clue. “What are you on about?” he managed, finally.

“Well, I mean,” Harry mused, “there’s so much hair, right? Like, loads of it. Where does it all go? Think it’s made of protein, innit, so probably takes a while for it to... decay and all, so I was wondering where it all ends up.” He paused. “Like, why aren’t our streets paved with hair, you know?”

Rubbing his face with one hand, Louis groaned. “Great, now you’ve got me thinking about living in hair, breathing in hair.”

Harry snorted contentedly and said, “You wouldn’t mind so much if it was my hair, right, Louis?”

Louis scoffed. “Of course I would mind! I’d be constantly affronted by hair!”

“Where does it _go_?” Harry asked, madly, looking at the car ceiling for a quick second.

Louis laughed again and replied, “‘M not sure, Haz, but when I find out, you’ll be the first one I tell.”

“Promise?” Harry smirked down at him.

Louis swatted him half-heartedly. “Yes, I promise. I will even pinky-swear it to you first chance I get.”

Harry hummed and bit his lip. “Louis?”

Louis sighed and said, “Yes, Harry?”

“What days are you thinking about working?”

Louis contemplated the question. He hadn’t given it any thought, hadn’t even actually considered applying to the record store in the first place until just over an hour before. “I don’t know,” he answered, honestly. “What days do you work?”

Harry grinned. “Work most of them, you know? Got nothing better to do, I suppose. Andre’s flexible, though. It’s great. As long as you put in your requests a few days early, you can get whatever day off.”

Laughing, Louis said, “That’ll come in handy.”

“Hope so,” Harry murmured, biting down a smile. Louis felt his heart warm as he pondered Harry's answer. Whether Harry'd meant that he hoped time off'd be a good thing for Louis or himself or both, Louis didn't know. He just knew that he was smiling and Harry was smiling and for a few seconds everything felt good and pure and permanent. Harry, Louis thought, had a definite way of bringing out Louis' soft side. As for that, Louis was finding more and more that he didn't mind it. In fact, whenever Louis' walls went back up, it seemed that Harry found a way to lower them down again without even trying.

"Harry," Louis said. Harry glanced over and raised his eyebrows a fraction. Louis continued, "You are the most genuinely wonderful person I know."

Harry laughed incredulously and ducked his head, smiling wide. "You sure about that?" he asked.

"Positive."

Louis saw a sign marking their descent back into the Doncaster limits and his heart dropped a bit. Outside of the town he grew up in, he didn’t have to think or worry. He loved his family but until he met Harry he hadn’t understood what it was like to have something else on his mind. Selfishness wasn’t in his nature, wasn’t how he was raised—but the high it was giving him at that moment was something he could get used to.

But now they were almost back, and by the end of the day Louis would have to face Mark again, and just because Harry was in his life didn’t make him Louis’ fairy godmother. The bruises throbbing dully on his upper arm as he leaned against the side of the car reminded him of that.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Harry said, snapping Louis out of his thoughts. “Why so glum? We’re gonna be coworkers! Isn’t that ace?”

Louis laughed softly. “Yeah, proper ace, Haz.”

“That’s right,” Harry nodded. “So buck up! We’re almost to the store.”

Louis smiled and focused on the beautiful boy sitting next to him.

“Your hair’s curly,” he told Harry contentedly.

“That it is.”

“I like it,” he said as he took a curl in between his fingers. “‘S quite charming.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut for a second and he looked at the road, smiling down. “So,” he asked, “do you still want to see what’s on the CDs?”

Louis breathed out a laugh and put one of them (with only a smiley face on it) in the player, leaning forward expectantly. “The tension’s incredible,” he deadpanned.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but the music’d started. Louis recognized it instantly and covered his face in his hands. He peeked at Harry, who was grinning, and asked, “Really?”

Harry shrugged and said, “Did warn you to expect the unexpected. ‘S my ‘be calm’ mix, Lou.” Louis gaped at him for a minute and Harry laughed again, breaking into song.

“‘Cause you can’t jump the track! We’re like cars on the cable! And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table!”

Louis sighed but soon joined in, singing in time with Harry: “No one can find the rewind button, girl, so cradle your head in your hands and breaaathe, just breaaaathe.”

Harry snorted and pulled a face, looking over at Louis dramatically. Louis tilted his head, quirked his eyebrows, and lightly took hold of Harry’s arm, serenading him, overexaggerated hand gestures and all.

Harry divided his attention (not entirely evenly) between Louis and the road and smiled, tapping his hands on the steering wheel throughout the song. He scanned Louis’ face, searching for his approval it seemed, and stuck his tongue out, scrunching up his face, as the song wound down. Louis laughed easily, stuck his own tongue out in turn, and thought about how he was definitely in love with a child, but couldn’t find it in himself to mind. For all Harry was—mysterious, naive, wonderful, genuine, strange, beautiful—he was also someone who felt safe, someone Louis could trust, and Louis wouldn’t trade in his instant connection with Harry for anything. He most of all wouldn’t trade it in for someone “mature”.

He had never considered himself as having a type, but now he knew. He knew he liked younger, curly-haired, green-eyed boys from Holmes Chapel who liked music and drove illegally.  He’d be hard-pressed to find another one of those, and he was fine with that.

The music faded out and a light, happy-sounding song came on. Louis scrunched up his face and tried to figure out why it sounded familiar to him, but came up empty. He figured maybe it was just one of those songs that sounds like something from your childhood—or would be, if your childhood was remotely happy. “Who’s this?” he asked finally.

Harry grinned and looked at him. “Belle and Sebastian,” he said. “‘S called ‘If She Wants Me’.”

Louis chuckled. “How heteronormative.”

Harry laughed and sang, “On second thought, I’d rather hang around and be there with my best friend, if she wants me.” Louis considered him for a moment. His eyes softened and his heart warmed and he thought to himself that if he ever were to have a best friend—if he were to ever have a connection with someone that deep—he’d be damned if he weren’t wishing for it to be with Harry. Louis closed his eyes and focused on the song. By the end of it, he found himself humming along to the chorus. It bled into the next song, though, and before Louis could ask again, Harry said, “Band of Horses. ‘Is There a Ghost’.”

“‘Is There a Ghost’?” Louis asked.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, and the song repeated the question. Louis laughed and Harry’s lip quirked. Harry glanced over and said, tapping his hands on the wheel, “I have a game I like to play with new music.”

“You’re all about games,” Louis noted.

Harry smiled and continued, “I like to guess the names. Usually, they’re whatever’s said the most, but sometimes they’re something completely different. Like ‘Baba O’Riley’.”

Louis laughed and said, “Very true.”

Harry looked over at him fondly and asked, “You want to try?”

“You’ve already given me this one,” Louis said.

“The next, then.”

“Sure,” Louis replied, “why not?”

They turned a corner, nearing the record store, and the next song came on. Louis listened for a minute, and then put forth his guess: “Is it called ‘Ain’t It Strange’?”

Cheeks dimpling, Harry exclaimed happily, “You’re good! Group’s called Dr. Dog. Can you imagine?” He laughed to himself and Louis breathed out a laugh, more at Harry’s amusement itself than at the joke.

Louis smiled at Harry as they pulled up to Disc ‘N Dat. “You sure know how to... calm someone down,” he said, crinkling his nose as he laughed.

“It’s a gift, I suppose.” Harry grinned as he shut the car off and stretched out, limbs almost comically bent in the tiny space allotted for the driver’s seat. He turned and raised his eyebrows expectantly at Louis. “Ready to land yourself a job?”

Louis let out a heavy breath and looked seriously at Harry. “I think I am,” he said solemnly.

Harry tilted his head and poked Louis in the cheek. “Cheer up! Come on, let’s go.” Louis laughed and nodded as he got out of the car and walked into the store. He didn’t realize until he almost fell over that he had been unconsciously leaning towards Harry, like some sort of strange planet in orbit.

Andre was working the register, which was unusual even for a slow day. He raised his eyebrows at the two of them, and Louis took a half step away in case he thought there was any sort of favoritism being factored in.

“Hey,” Harry said, smiling as he leaned against the counter and tapped out sporadic rhythms. “Louis here is looking for a job, can he work here?”

Andre considered Louis for all of thirty seconds and shrugged his assent. “Sure,” he grunted.

Louis’ eyes widened while Harry cackled gleefully. “S-sure?” Louis sputtered. “That’s all? No interview or, or, references or resumes or anything?”

“Figure you know well enough about the store,” Andre said. “Long as you keep your lovely 80s music to yourself, I don’t see why I’d have a problem with you working here.”

“Ignoring that.” Louis refrained from rolling his eyes in front of his now-employer.

“You’ll have to submit contact information, available hours, forms of identification, that sort of thing, though,” the older man said, turning to organize a box of new records. “Once I’ve got that I’ll give you your schedule and we can get you on the payroll. How about it?”

“Brilliant,” Louis beamed. “That’s fantastic.”

Harry took Louis’ hand in his and squeezed as he pulled him in and whispered, “Wanna see something?” Louis nodded, only a little bit terrified by Harry’s tone.

Harry smirked and called over his shoulder, “Hey, boss-man. Can I get the key to the roof?”

Andre turned, raising an eyebrow as he pulled a chain with a brass key attached to it out of his pocket. “Bring it back,” was all he said.

Harry raised his hand in a salute as he skipped over and grabbed the chain. “Yes, sir.”

Andre shook his head, but went back to his work. Harry looked over at Louis, licked his lips, and propelled himself towards him, bounding over. “C’mon,” he said, smiling widely.

Louis laughed and threw his arm over Harry’s shoulder, saying, “Lead the way, Haz.”

Harry smiled down at him and gestured to a nondescript door to their right. They headed over, still entangled, and Louis gently sighed, chalking the whole thing up to Harry being a bit off-kilter. Harry pulled the door open, revealing a narrow stairwell with an even narrower ladder on top of it, and said, “After you.”

Louis crossed his arms and said, “Ever consider I might be more the following type?”

“Never,” Harry replied, chuckling and pushing Louis a little towards the stairs. Louis resisted for a second, leaning his weight against Harry’s hands, and Harry groaned. “Lou,” he whined, “come off it. There’re things to see!”

Louis glanced over his shoulder, smirking, and said, “Things to see, you say? Incredible.”

Harry rolled his eyes, biting down a smile, and replied, “Promise it’ll be worth it if you just—stop being difficult.” He lifted Louis with a little difficulty and attempted to carry him up, stopping after a few steps.

“A valiant effort!” Louis commended, laughing and burying his face in the juncture between Harry’s neck and his shoulder. Relaxing into the touch, Harry splayed a hand on Louis’ upper back and whispered, “Lou?”

“Yes, Harry?” Louis pulled back to look at him.

“Can we please,” Harry said, ducking his head, “go to the roof?”

Louis flicked his eyes up and down Harry and responded, “I think that can be arranged.”

Harry’s eyes flashed up to meet Louis’, holding contact there for a few seconds. “Wonderful,” he beamed.

“Wonderful,” Louis agreed, folding his lips inward to hide his smile.

“Let us away,” Harry said in a dramatically posh accent, scaling the ladder with an agility Louis wasn’t sure his old bones possessed. Louis sighed a little to himself and began to climb, following Harry’s example.

They reached the top and Harry leaned down into the hatch in the ceiling to pull Louis up and out. He tried not to think about how effortlessly strong Harry was for just being fourteen. Louis reminded himself that Harry’d had trouble pushing him up the stairs a few minutes before and told himself that Harry being able to lift him now was just a trick of weight distribution and had nothing at all to do with Harry’s actual physical abilities. It was the only thing that made sense. He laughed at his justification and Harry’s eyebrows perked up inquisitively.

“‘S nothing,” Louis said.

Harry smiled at him. “Are you ready,” he asked, “to see the most amazing view in the entire world?”

Louis laughed and replied, “Babe, I’m pretty sure nothing in Doncaster is the ‘most amazing’ anything.”

Harry scoffed. “You have no idea, Louis.”

Louis shrugged and said, “Alright, alright, I’ll take your word. Lead the way, then.”

Harry took hold of Louis’ arms from behind, guiding him over to the ledge on the left side of the building. Louis’ first reaction was to tense up, and he tried not to focus on the light pain underneath Harry’s fingers. Harry pointed and leaned forward, whispering into Louis’ ear, “See over there?” Louis nodded. “That’s a church over on Maddox. It’s the oldest one in the city and it’s lovely.”

Louis squinted a little, noting the way the stained glass windows glowed, backlit by the fading sun. He turned his head a fraction and looked at Harry and Harry looked right back at him. Louis’ breath hitched and he asked, a little breathy, “‘S that what you wanted to show me?”

Harry nodded and swallowed. “Yeah, but there’s also,” he paused, “there’s also kinda just the feeling that everything’s going on, you know? There’re people down there that you’ll never meet and maybe some you’ll never even see and,” he screwed his eyes closed, “and there’re the lights of the cars coming and going and the streets of the place, yeah?”

Louis leaned into him softly. Harry opened his eyes and inhaled. “Lou?”

“Yeah, Haz?”

Harry’s brow furrowed and he frowned a little. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Louis said.

“I want to show you everything,” Harry said. “I know that sounds weird and all, but I want to.”

Louis nodded. “I understand.”

“...Louis?” Harry looked over to his right and Louis turned to face him full-on.

Louis hummed and waited. Harry shifted his feet and finally lifted his gaze to meet Louis’ eyes. “Why’re you so afraid?” he asked, quietly.

Frozen, Louis felt his throat close and willed himself to look stronger than he felt. He looked at Harry for a long moment and then fixed his eyes on the ground. Harry’s hand reached forward and pulled at the fabric of Louis’ hoodie and Louis looked up at him. Brow knitted, Harry ran his fingers gently over Louis’ arm. Louis closed his eyes and shook his head a little.

He wanted to be so much more than he was—wanted to undo this look on Harry’s face, to erase his unanswered question from the air between them. He would uproot trees and move mountains and redo the entire landscape of the whole godforsaken planet if it meant he never had to explain the mottled bruises on his side to this beautiful, unharmed boy.

He couldn’t do any of that, though, so instead he stepped forward and kissed Harry. It was soft and hesitant and Harry let out a little gasp of surprise, but his hands soon found Louis’ lower back and pulled them together so they almost collided. Their mouths fit together like a key turning in a lock, Louis thought through a haze—all the little ridges and dips sliding just so, until there was a _click_. He felt a growl escape his throat as their tongues met, and he grabbed a fistful of Harry’s jumper and pressed the other hand to the back of his neck, anything to get them closer. They might have been kissing for ten minutes or an hour, but Harry broke them apart, the green in his eyes sparkling and his normally obscenely pink lips were almost bright red. _Like an early Christmas present to myself_ , Louis thought, nearly laughing.

“Wow, Louis,” Harry laughed breathlessly. “That—that was nice.”

“ _Nice_?” Louis shrieked, crossing his arms and turning away. “See if I ever snog you aga—”

Louis’ words were cut off by Harry grabbing him, spinning him so they were face to face and crushing their mouths together again. Louis yelped and laughed into it, but Harry’s hands were ghosting over the bruises on his arms and his hands were fisted in Harry’s jumper and his hair, respectively, and Louis’ eyes fluttered shut and he pushed into the kiss, slotting their lips together until they were right back to where they’d been when it was perfect. For a minute, kissing Harry, everything felt suspended—like the world was waiting for them, or maybe like the world didn’t exist at all.

They stopped kissing and Harry whined a bit, flushed, and all the blood flowing to Louis’ brain must have gone somewhere else, because he found himself whispering, “You know how much I like you, right? I mean... you’ve got to know how—fond I am of you.”

Harry giggled and ran his hands up and down Louis’ back, eliciting chills. “I’m rather fond of you too, you know,” he murmured. “Have been since the first time we met in the store.”

Louis scrunched his face and laughed in disbelief. “Fuck, it’s only been—what, eight days? Eight days I’ve known you, Harry Edward Styles, and you have ruined me.”

“Good,” Harry nodded. “Like it that way.” Harry pulled the boy back towards him, and Louis vaguely wondered what he was getting into.

They kissed some more until Louis got fed up with Harry blowing air into Louis’ mouth so that his cheeks puffed out. “For fuck’s sake!” he laughed, half-heartedly shoving Harry.

Harry stumbled backwards and laughed, beaming at Louis. “Quite the first date,” he drawled.

“It was,” Louis smirked, “until you made me into your own personal balloon.” Then, under his breath, “Idiot.”

“Heard that, thank you!” Harry pulled him forward by his hoodie string and just _held_ Louis, his laughter moving them both gently.

Louis grinned and lightly nipped at Harry’s collar, only wondering after the fact whether that was an okay thing to do. Worry on his face, he looked up at Harry, but Harry was smiling down at him and tracing a line down his right arm, so Louis relaxed.

 _Sated_ , Louis decided. Harry looked sated. He looked the picture of contentment, in all honesty, eyes hooded and lips still shining from the kisses but smiling only a little so that the corners of his mouth were pulled up. Harry looked at Louis and tilted his head a fraction, breathing slowly. He raised his hand and swiped Louis’ fringe to the side then kissed him on the cheek. Louis inhaled and smiled at him softly. “Where’ve you been all my life?” he asked, not letting himself feel every bit the cliche he undeniably was.

Harry laughed a little. “Been heading towards you the whole time, don’t worry.”

Louis sighed and bounced on his heels, pecking Harry, and he watched Harry’s shock melt instantly into a pleasant smile, his eyes shutting.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said later against Harry’s lips, words between soft presses, betraying his sentiments. “I really,” a kiss, “really,” one more, “really have to go.”

Harry bit his lip and smiled, tilting his head down. “Yeah, okay.” He took Louis’ hand in his and led him back towards the hatch. “Careful,” he murmured as Louis descended the ladder first, and Louis beamed up at him. Harry climbed down, jumping off the ladder’s end, and flung his arm over Louis’ shoulder, bumping into him as they took the stairs two at a time.

Louis laughed and inclined his head against Harry, looking up at him as they reached the bottom of the stairwell.

“Ready?” Harry asked, and Louis nodded. Harry opened the door and they stepped back into the store, fingers linked in front of Louis’ heart. Andre looked up from across the room, smirked, and moved to the next stack of albums.

Louis cleared his throat. “I’ll get those, er, forms to you right away. Sir.”

Andre waved them off, but Louis swore he was smiling. They reached Harry’s (Gemma’s) car out front, and Louis let Harry open the door this time.

“Matter of principle,” Harry nodded as Louis climbed in. “I don’t kiss and... not open doors.”

“Seems like you don’t do anything and not open doors,” Louis snorted.

“My mum raised me right, Tomlinson.” Harry preened before he sat down in the driver’s seat.

“Yes, my upbringing was obviously lacking in door education.”

“Admitting it’s the first step.”

“You know, people always say that,” Louis said absentmindedly as they pulled away. “I bet no one knows the other eleven steps.”

“There are more than one?” Harry laughed, but Louis was trying hard not to remember the night when Mark found an AA brochure under Jay’s dresser. Louis wouldn’t have been surprised if her cries were heard throughout the neighboring houses, passing through deaf ears. Later that night an eleven-year-old Louis had rummaged through the bin and found the brochure, read it over and over to see what could have possibly elicited such a reaction. The twelve steps burned themselves into his brain after that.

He decided the conversation was veering into potentially unclear waters, so he searched his mind for a filler topic. “You’re a really good kisser,” he said.

Harry blushed and straightened in his seat. “Really? I’ve... I’ve never kissed anyone before, so.”

Louis choked, and Harry shot him a concerned look. “Ever?” he asked in a strained voice after he was done coughing. “You’re serious?”

Brow furrowed, Harry frowned a little and shrugged. “Never. Until now, of course.”

Louis snorted and said, “Suppose there’s always a first time.”

Harry grinned. “Knew one day my prince would come.” He laughed and reached over to squeeze Louis’ knee, shooting him a glance and tapping lightly on the wheel. “Round the corner, innit?”

Louis looked up at the street ahead and answered, “Yeah. Parking’s best off there.” He pointed to an offshoot to the right. Harry pulled over and parked the car, turning it full off.

“Can I,” Harry began, “see your actual, honest-to-god house?”

Louis smiled tightly and said, “Yeah, yeah, sure. I guess this time I really do need to lead.”

Harry clapped his hands together and hopped out of the car, rushing around to let Louis out. Louis sighed exasperatedly, but was coming to realize that this was just another facet of Harry that he’d be living with—it was a nice one, too, and constant and, Louis thought, just a teeny bit charming. Harry was closing the door when Louis spun him around and grabbed his face, planting a messy kiss on his cheek. Harry giggled and he ducked his head. “You going to make an honest woman of me, Lou?”

Louis gasped. “‘Course!” he said. “I’ve no unsavory thoughts anywhere in my body.” He crossed his fingers and swayed his hips, smiling widely at Harry. “Come on, then. Gotta show you where I spend my evenings.”

Harry bounced on his heels and toppled forward, pulled by Louis’ hand in his. Louis purposefully brought them to a halt in front of his flat and said, “So, this is where I live. And where I have to go to now.”

“Hey, Lou,” Harry said, uncertainty in his voice, “can I meet your parents someday?”

Louis shivered but swallowed, nodded, and said, “Sisters too.”

Harry took hold of Louis’ shirt fabric around his hips and pulled him forward. Harry shifted his weight from side to side, still keeping his hold on Louis, then inclined his head to kiss him, slow and sweet. Louis hummed and pulled back after a few seconds, smiling at Harry. Harry scrubbed his hair and ducked his head and said, “This was good.”

“Next time will be better,” Louis said, because he knew that it’d make Harry’s eyes light up and his teeth flash and his face flush just slightly.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Can’t wait.”

Louis laughed and said, “I’ve really gotta go now. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Smiling, Harry replied, “Okay. Bye, Lou!”

Louis waved as he approached the door, taking a shallow breath in an attempt to steady himself. He looked over his shoulder and Harry was still there, so he waved again. Harry backed away, waved, and turned to walk back to his car. Louis followed his path until he was out of sight and then lifted his hand and pushed the door open.

Louis headed upstairs and listened to The Beatles’ White Album that Harry’d given him, coming downstairs only when it was time for dinner. He spent dinner in a haze, not rising to Mark’s snide comments, not thinking of anything much beyond Harry and Harry’s eyes and Harry’s lips and the way the world had surely ceased to exist for a few beautiful minutes there.  
  
Louis headed to bed early that night, unable to stop smiling.

He shut his eyes and drifted for a while in his memories of the day, then his phone vibrated in his pocket and he dug it out to read his new message.

_Goodnight xx_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we WOULD apologize for this chapter being so long, but long chapters are da best, so we're not sorry at all. thanks for sticking with us/just joining us/existing!! we appreciate you all more than you know. ALSO, DISCLAIMER: the actual unclaimed baggage is in scottsboro, alabama. it's the best, if you're ever in that neck of the woods you should check it out. ALSO ALSO: you can listen to harry's 'be calm' mix [here](http://8tracks.com/somuchlighter/harry-s-be-calm-mix)! enjoy. :)


	6. v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry. OR: Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives.
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special trigger warning for this chapter: homophobic slurs

Louis woke up, startled out of the kind of sleep that doesn’t yield any rest. He rubbed his face and tried to calm his nerves, telling himself that there was nothing to be nervous about. He had the whole day ahead of him—he could spend the whole day fucking around if he wanted to. Still, his hands were shaking and the light coming through his window covered his room in a dull kind of non-color, making everything look faded and vaguely menacing. He took several shallow breaths, hugging his knees tightly to his head in an attempt to push the headache out.

Louis had stood up and begun pacing around his room, cracking his knuckles, when there was knock on his door. Suddenly, he found himself tense and frozen. “Yeah?” he called.

The door pushed open and Louis tried to steady himself.

“Louis?” Lottie peered around the door, and Louis drew a shaky breath.

“Hey, Lot,” he said. “What’s up?”

She scanned his face quickly and frowned. “Are you okay, Louis?”

He smiled wryly and shrugged noncommittally. “Just had a bad dream, is all.”

Lottie searched his eyes, but let it drop. “So,” she started, “how was your date?”

He lifted a finger to his lips and stage-whispered, “Not so loud,” moving forward to push the door closed.

Lottie’s eyes lit up and she bounced on her heels, questions in her eyes.

Louis smirked and sighed half-heartedly. “It went well,” he said, laughing a little at the memories.

“Did you kiss?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Kissing is gross.”

“It is, innit?” Louis nodded. “Your spit in the other person’s mouth and theirs in yours and everything.”

Lottie stuck her tongue out and said, “You don’t actually just spit in each other’s mouths do you?”

Louis mussed her hair and laughed. “Not quite, but it achieves the same thing, I s’pose.”

She nudged him with her foot and asked, “So, did you, though?”

Louis laughed. “Proper ladies never kiss and tell, Lot.”

She pointed at him, exclaiming, “You did, then! Because, because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have said ‘kiss and tell’!” She looked so proud of herself for figuring it out that Louis had to give it to her.

“You’ve cracked the case,” he said fondly.

Lottie scrunched up her face and feigned gagging, but she was smiling. “Are you gonna _marry_ him?” she asked, lips quirked, and the weight on Louis’ chest that had lightened since she came in the room suddenly grew a thousand kilos.

“Who’d wanna marry me, huh?” he laughed, the bitterness barely concealed. “I’m an icky boy.”

She headbutted his shoulder softly and looked up at him, leaning against him. “You’re not icky! Not like the boys in my class.”

Louis snorted, wrapping an arm around her. “They’ll get better, Lot.” He lowered his voice and raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. “I have a confession. You were just a baby so you don’t remember, but when I was your age? _I was icky, too_.”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Lou. You _just_ said you’re icky and you’re the best brother ever, so.”

He squeezed her shoulder and smiled down at her. “You and your sisters make me the luckiest one, too.”

They were silent for a bit, and there was the muffled sound of dishes being cleaned in the kitchen sink, and Lottie looked up at him with a question in her eyes that, honestly, he wanted the answer to, too.

“Yeah,” he muttered, sighing. “I should probably go out there, right?”

“What are you gonna tell him?” she asked with a small tremor.

“Jeez, Lottie, what is it with you and _questioning_ me? We’ve been over this. I’m smart. I know how to handle things,” he said sharply, bending down to look her right in the eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he said, hoping to assure himself along with her. “Trust me.”

Lottie shifted and trained her eyes on the ground, then she said with a broken voice, “Be careful, Louis.”

Louis’ face softened and his eyebrows pulled together. He lightly pulled Lottie in, holding her against his chest, and said, “Lottie, I’ll be fine.”

She exhaled and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he said. “Best go down there, probably.”

“Yeah,” Lottie agreed, pulling away a little and looking up at him. She smiled tightly and squirmed out of his arms, and Louis reflected on how much he fucking _hated_ that Lottie already knew how to diffuse a tense situation, how she already knew how to look more sure than she felt.

He found himself smiling back at her, the same tired, wan smile he used to get through tough days at school and rougher nights. The same smile he used to cover up the rage boiling underneath his skin every single time he had to have a conversation with Mark, regardless of whether it was just a how-was-your-day or it was Mark calling him a mistake that needed to be fixed. No matter what, Louis was there, burying how much he wanted to fucking kill Mark sometimes under twelve layers of pleasantries and an unwavering smile.

Louis took Lottie’s hand and said, “Come on, then. Go off to your room. I’ll see you in a while, yeah?”

Lottie bit her lip and faintly nodded, then turned on her heel and went down the hall to her room. Louis waited until he heard it shut, and headed downstairs. He closed his eyes and breathed in as deeply as he could, feeling the way the air pushed out like a force of nature. He rubbed his temple and rounded the corner, finding Mark in his usual position in front of the telly.

“G’morning,” Louis said, as brightly as he could manage.

Mark grunted and turned down the volume. “You finally going to start being worthwhile, then?”

Louis bristled and replied, “If by that you mean did I get the job—”

“You know what I fucking mean, you bastard. Answer the question.”

Louis’ head was throbbing and his hands were shaking and he was suddenly very aware of every movement of his entire body, every sway, every jostle. He exhaled. “Yeah, I’ve got a job.”

Mark scanned Louis’ face, checking for any indication that he was lying, and folded his arms. “Well, then, where’re you working?” He took a swig of the whiskey next to him.

Instinctively, Louis flinched and glanced over his shoulder, calculating how long it would take him to get from here to his room, door shut and locked. He figured he could manage to get there before Mark, but he knew—he _knew_ —that it wouldn’t be worth it in the end. He knew that Mark would dole out his punishment in bloody knuckles and purple skin. The only way out was through, though there was a guarantee of “discipline” either way.

Mark lifted himself out of his chair and closed the distance between himself and Louis in three quick strides. “When I ask you a question,” he growled, “you answer it.”

Louis winced. “The record store,” he said. “The record store ‘round the corner.”

Mark caught Louis’ wrist and tightened his grip on it. “Can you prove it?”

Shuddering, Louis forced a smile. “‘Ve got the papers.”

“‘Got the papers’,” Mark mocked, looking disgustedly at Louis.

“Would you like to see them?” Louis shot back. He had no time to regret it, because Mark slammed one of his shoulders into the wall, smirking.

“Don’t need to see any papers to know you’re a faggot.” The last word was spat onto Louis’ face, and in the half-second he blinked he saw Harry looking up at him asking _why are you afraid_ and he didn’t know. He couldn’t answer Harry.

So he shoved his upper body against Mark’s hand, making the man stumble backward a step or two. “Don’t _ever_ say that word again,” he whispered viciously, his breathing ragged despite the assurance of his voice.

Mark furrowed his brow and Louis knew what was coming. In general he tried not to stand up against his stepfather when it came to his own well-being—it wasn’t worth the additional injuries, not like the girls were. But, he thought in rage as he watched Mark’s face contort in disbelief in almost slow motion, he deserved to be selfish every once in a while. He didn’t want to say Harry was giving him something to die for, but he might have been giving him something to live for.

“Why?” Mark asked, dangerously slow. “Is it ‘cause you are? A _faggot_? I knew you had to be, you’ve always been a little girl.” Louis lunged at him, but before he could even attempt to throw a punch, Mark had his right arm twisted behind him, dangerously close to breaking. He pushed Louis back into the wall and leaned near his ear.

“That’s why you need punishing, see?” he whispered. “Your mum didn’t raise you right, didn’t teach you how to be a _man_. So now it’s up to me. And you’ll learn.” He stepped back, still holding Louis’ arm with one lean, muscled arm. His other pulled back, and Louis barely had time to flinch before his shoulder was hit with an unimaginably painful force. Mark was smart; he knew not to hit above the collar or below the sleeve. No one could see the evidence then, not unless they looking for it.

And no one was looking.

The blows kept coming, and Louis’ mind was running through with _harryharryharry_. Harry’s eyes when he smiled, his hair when the wind lifted it, his mouth when he’d just told a joke, his hands when they tapped out a rhythm.

The beating was over soon enough, and when Mark let go of him Louis dropped to his knees, unable to hold the weight of himself. He heard Mark laugh through a haze of pain, and felt a kick to his leg.

“Fag,” Mark laughed again under his breath as he walked away, and Louis laid there.

Eventually he got up again. Lottie and Fizz, emerging from their room, quietly did their best to stabilize him as he walked to his room. He wasn’t bleeding, but he could barely think through the pain, and even falling onto his bed made him bite his lip to keep from crying out.

Deciding against curling up in on himself, Louis tried to stay completely still and did his best to push out the pain, focusing instead on the best music he could remember and the memory of intertwining with Harry—the way he'd touched Harry so easily, the way Harry'd leaned into it. He thought about how Harry had said he wanted to show him everything, and Louis couldn't even find it in himself to be bitter about how he'd experienced so much more than Harry could ever know—how could he be mad when he could still see Harry's eyes, shining and bright? Louis thought of the church and the glow of the setting sun and he drifted off to sleep, wondering whether there was a Heaven for people like him.

Floating in and out of consciousness, Louis screwed his eyes shut and tightened his jaw, shivering but recoiling from his own touch. After many unpleasant minutes spent this way, Louis forced his eyes open, pleased that the room was mostly dark—everything’s outlines covered in shadows. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling, focusing and refocusing until the divots there started changing form. It was almost like he could see the particles, the mechanisms behind everything. Louis gently pressed two fingers against his shoulder, wincing, and thought about how he was only molecules and atoms, too, and how those cuts and bruises and declarations of unbridled hate were just as impermanent as everything else. He rolled his shoulder and lifted himself up, crossing his legs in front of him in his bed. The sky outside his window was purple-gray and Louis reached into his pocket, checking the time on his phone. 6:37. He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. _Only six hours this time_ , he noted.

Taking a proper look at his phone, he saw that he had four messages from Harry.

The first three were innocuous little things— _Good morning xx_ and _Friends is on channel 6 right now!!_ and _I’m playing on the broken plastic violin it’s not working out_ —but the last one was the one that caught Louis’ attention.

_Are you okay?_

Louis rubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck,” he muttered tiredly. No way in hell was he explaining the reasons why he was missing in action for an entire afternoon over text message. He scrunched up his nose and typed back, _hey just got these xx. phone was dead. friends still on ?_

It wasn’t long before his phone vibrated. _Nooo :( now I’m watching a Lifetime movie. They make me feel better about my life. What are you up to?_

Louis allowed himself a small smile. He turned to shift himself to his side, but his shoulder throbbed with pain, and he winced, falling onto his back. Sighing, he resigned himself to not leaving the bed for the rest of the day. He thought of a way to answer Harry’s question without technically lying.

 _just lying in bed. I’m sleeeeepyyyyyy ._ There. That couldn’t possibly prompt any unwarranted questions.

_Already?? It’s barely 7, you old man_

Louis scoffed. _i’m wounded, haz. spending a day with you takes it out of a guy_

As Louis was putting his phone back into his pocket, it vibrated. _Excuse you I’m delightful!!!!_

_yes you are and that’s why it takes a whole day to recover from you._

It kept up like that for a while, Harry updating Louis on everything happening in the movie he was watching and Louis doing his best to seem normal and not like he’d spent his entire Sunday passed out, overwhelmed by pain.

 _Wanna come over? Mum’s making macaroni and cheese :)_ Harry asked, seemingly out of the blue. Louis panicked, checking his watch to see if he could use the time as an excuse—but no cigar, it was still only 7:20.

_a tempting offer, to be sure. sadly, i’ve already eaten. next time, yeah ??_

For someone who spent so much of his life working out the perfect ways to disguise the truth in half-lies, Louis felt oddly guilty hiding this from Harry. He had wondered first off whether he sounded nonchalant enough to pass as being honest. The thrumming in his head, however, asked him whether he wanted to get away with this at all, whether he didn’t just want to tell Harry what there was to tell. He wondered whether Harry’d actually be okay with hearing it. Louis closed his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, and tried to figure out how to navigate this. He’d been so safe before with his one-off dates and class-only friends. Somehow, Harry fucking Styles had slipped through the cracks and wedged himself in between Louis’ bones.

And Louis, he couldn’t find it in himself to cut and run like he instinctively wanted to—like he _should_ , maybe. The truth was he’d never met anyone quite like Harry, never had someone he’d gotten along with that easily. The fact that Harry clearly did not have the same background as Louis had wasn’t an issue—not like it’d been for the other people Louis’d liked. Harry was different and _good_ and seemed to be dead set on learning the twists and turns of Louis and Louis thought he just might let him.

His phone buzzed again and he looked at it.

_Next time it is.. but I’m holding you to it!!!!!  x_

Louis laughed a little. _deal xx_

_Still tired???_

That intrigued him. _yeah some. why??_

Louis poked his inner arm and winced, feeling the weight of his bones. His phone vibrated.

_Can I call you?? just for a bit, won’t take two ticks_

Louis tilted his head and considered Harry Styles as an actual human being who walked the earth. _oh okay good, cause I’ve got exactly two ticks to spare. if you’d have said three you would have been out of luck .xx_

He received a simple _shut up x_ before Harry’s name flashed on his screen and his phone began ringing.

“Hey,” he smiled into the phone despite of himself. “How goes it?”

“Pretty well,” Harry said, and Louis could hear the clink of dishes in the background. He wondered what Harry’s place looked like, how big his room was, whether or not he set the table or washed the dishes at dinner. It wasn’t hard for him to picture a domestic Harry, teetering around his house and smiling at everyone, speaking low and easy.

“So,” Louis said, “to what do I owe this fine chat we’re having?”

Harry laughed softly and said, “Promise not to laugh at me?”

“Can’t promise that. Sorry, love.” Louis cradled the phone against his ear.

Harry chuckled and murmured, “Fair enough.”

Listening to Harry’s light breaths, Louis closed his eyes. “So,” he said after a beat.

“So,” Harry responded, “I was wondering if I could, um, maybe sing to you?”

Louis choked and said, “Like a lullaby or something?”

“I mean... if you want that. Was thinking more along the lines of this song that’s stuck in my head but I could mellow it out for you or something.”

Laughing again, Louis said slowly, “Harry, I was just asking because you’d asked whether I was tired and proceeded to tell me you wanted to sing to me.”

“Oh,” Harry said, and he laughed. “Well, anyway, it’s just that sometimes I have to sing, you know? Like, I gotta. And it’s nicer when you’ve got someone to hear you.”

Smiling, Louis tilted his head and said gingerly, “Go on then.” He could imagine Harry ducking his head, grinning at the ground, breathing out in a puff. Louis bit his lips, smiling at this image of Harry.

Louis could hear Harry shuffling around a little, a door closing, and then Harry said, “Alright. Louis?”

Louis hummed and rolled onto his side, breath catching as he was reminded why he was in bed in the first place. “Yeah, Haz?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound too strained.

“Remember that you did consent to this, please, and don’t,” he breathed, “don’t mock me too endlessly for it.”

“You have a lovely voice, Harry,” Louis replied gently, smiling. “I really think I’ll enjoy anything you sing.” He paused and bit his lip, continuing, “Especially if it’s for me.”

“Well, good,” Harry said, and Louis could hear happiness bubbling over into his words. “I’ll be sure to make this, you know, something that happens. Consider this the first of a recurring series of events.”

“Harry,” Louis said fondly.

“Yeah, Lou?”

“Will you sing, please?”

There was a pause on the other end and then, quietly, “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.”

Louis technically hadn’t promised he wouldn’t laugh, but he was honestly so shocked at Harry’s selection that he had to stifle a snort. After settling down, though, he really listened to Harry’s voice—it was softer than Louis was used to it being, but nice and lilting, giving Julie Andrews’ “My Favorite Things” an almost melancholic air.

Harry’d gotten to the part right before the dogs biting and bees stinging, and stopped somewhat cautiously. “So,” he said after a silence.

“...That’s the song that’s been stuck in your head?” Louis asked, trying to keep the latent smirk out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Harry said shamefully, and Louis actually did laugh that time. “In my defense, my family and I watched _The Sound of Music_ the other day and I’ve always loved that song!”

“I used to sing that to my sister when she was really little and—” Bad things were happening, Louis thought. They weren’t there, not yet. “When she was scared,” he finished lamely.

“Shit, I still sing it during thunderstorms,” Harry confessed. “Am I or am I not the manliest man?”

“You are The Manliest Man. Capital T and Ms and everything,” Louis nodded. “I am but a waif next to your giant stature.”

“The doctors say I’ll probably shoot up three feet by the time I’m seventeen,” Harry said. “Still got a lot of growing to do, so, you know.”

“When you’re seventeen and I am _still_ taller than you I’m gonna laugh,” Louis said smugly (it was weird how Harry could turn Louis’ mood on a dime just by being himself, but thinking about it, Louis figured it really wasn’t that weird at all).

“You’re only just barely taller than me now!”

They continued like that for a while, a comfortable rapport built between the two of them, before Louis’ eyes became hooded and he noticed the slow drawl of Harry’s voice pulling him towards sleep like the waves of an ocean.

“Harry,” he murmured sleepily.

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“‘Ve gotta go to sleep. Or else you’re just gonna be talking to a wall.”

Harry laughed, a sweet and heavy sound in Louis’ ear, and Louis pressed his phone closer still. “And a very attractive wall it is, too,” he said, his voice crackling over the line, and a small pool of warmth gathered in Louis’ stomach. But he really had to sleep.

“Haaaarryyyyy,” he whined softly. “Sleepytime.”

“Okay, babe,” Harry said in a lowered voice. “Get some rest. See you tomorrow?”

Louis hesitated, but only for a second, and replied, “Yeah. See you.”

“Night, love.”

“G’night.”

Though he’d said it, Louis made no move to actually hang up on Harry, and Harry didn’t seem to be set on leaving the call, either. Neither of them said anything more, but Louis could hear Harry’s breathing. As he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep, the phone was still in place, pressed up under his face. Before he was fully asleep, Louis could’ve sworn he’d heard Harry say “Goodnight, Lou”, but that could’ve easily just been his brain playing tricks on him or a part of his dreams or something.  Whatever the case, Louis slept easily, tucked in on himself, and woke up to find the call still going. He stayed there for a few minutes, trying to listen for sounds of Harry, but all he got was a little bit of crinkling on the other end of the line. Louis moved to hang up the phone, but paused and, giving into his own urges, said, “G’morning, Harry,” as softly as he could. There was no answer on Harry’s end and Louis laughed and, shrugging, pressed the ‘end’ button.

Louis thought about seeing Harry at school. It wasn’t that that he didn’t want to, per se—he just didn’t know if he felt ready to. Without actually taking the time to make a pros and cons list, he’d decided that he couldn’t keep going with Harry and not tell him about his home life. Louis wasn’t new to lying, but he was new to having someone in his life outside of his family to care about, and he didn’t like the thought of keeping that person in the dark. And then, he wasn’t at all willing to let Harry out of his life now that he’d entered into it. Still, Louis _was_ scared, and the thought of explaining what he’d dealt with more or less alone for over thirteen years was not an appealing one. His stomach turned as he played with different variations of what he could say, different ways of showing how well and truly fucked up his life really was.

So, maybe when he headed to school, he decided to make himself unavailable for Harry. He’d stay in classrooms during breaks or say that he had a project to work on. He’d do something. Louis was going to tell Harry about his awful home situation, but he wasn’t going to do it at school.

He’d reached Lottie and Fizz’s school and kissed them both on the top of their heads. “Be good, girls. Have a good day,” he said, smiling.

“You too!” Lottie said with a not-very-subtle knowing look. “Say hi to you-know-who for me.”

“You-know-who?” Fizz asked, wrinkling her nose in indignation at being left out. “Who’s you-know-who? Louis?”

“Voldemort,” he said with a laugh as he patted them to get a move on. Lottie smiled over her shoulder at him while Fizz continued to pester her sister.

Avoiding Harry was actually fairly easy, given that they were in different years and had entirely different schedules, and it was a wonder that Harry had even found time to run into him. honestly. He found out he’d forgotten all about a quiz taking place in his anatomy class, but he felt sure he only missed a little less than half, which was good enough when a lot more than half of his mind was focusing on green eyes under dark curls.

He kept thinking he saw Harry in the crowds of students in the halls, but it wasn’t ever him, and at one point there wasn’t even anyone there when he whirled around. _Get it together, Tomlinson_ , he chastised himself half-heartedly. _You’ve been single sixteen years too long for you to be acting like this_.

 _Leave me alone_ , he responded, scrubbing his hair and ducking his head on the way to his next class. He only barely made it through maths, feigning attention, when he grabbed his bag, flinging it over his shoulder, and left the room, turning the corner right into a waiting Harry.

“Gonna make this a habit, Louis?” Harry asked, biting down a smile. “Might have to invest in some padding.”

“Harry,” Louis said dumbly, blinking at him.

“Hello!” Harry waved at him. “How’re ya?” He lightly tugged at Louis’ jumper and beamed, raising his eyebrows. “Miss me?”

Louis snorted and, lip quirking, said, “Of course.” He glanced over his shoulder and, since his classmates were nowhere to be seen, took Harry’s face in his hands and kissed him messily on the cheek, with Harry’s eyes widening and a laugh bursting from his chest. Louis pulled away, shoving Harry gently, and smiled at him, eyes crinkling. “Can’t bear to be apart from you,” Louis added.

Harry smiled fondly at him and Louis had trouble remembering why exactly he was avoiding him in the first place. “So, that rain-check from last night for supper at mine,” he said, rocking on his heels.

“I distinctly do not recall a rain-check being guaranteed,” Louis corrected, but Harry shrugged. “Right?”

“I dunno, Lou, you were pretty gone,” he said with a wicked smirk. “You might have promised me all sorts of things you don’t remember.”

Louis had a moment of panic until his slower-than-capacity brain caught on to the fact that, yes, Harry was joking. He rolled his eyes and pressed the back of his hand lightly against Harry’s (to an outsider it would just look like a normal conversation, or that’s what he told himself). “You wish, sunshine.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I do,” he said with no follow-up. Louis stared at him, expecting him to finish with what exactly he wished, but Harry just continued with, “Anyway, how’s tonight for supper? I know that’s, like, soon or whatever, but we could walk over to Disc ‘N Dat and drop off your forms and then you can come home with me and we’ll, you know... eat food?”

Louis blinked, and he figured he had about five seconds to decide whether or not he was actually going to go through with his whole telling-Harry plan. He wanted to be with Harry, he was certain about that, but tonight seemed extremely fast for them to reach that stage in their quasi-relationship.

“Plus,” Harry added sheepishly, “I’d really like you to meet my mum.”

That was one thing Louis never understood and probably would never understand—people meeting other people’s _parents_ when a relationship was going well. He could never imagine himself saying _Well, Harry, we’ve been going pretty hot and heavy and I feel great about everything. But you know what would make it even better? Mark and Jay Tomlinson. Let’s get two older people in an abusive marriage in the mix!_

But he smiled, hooked their pinkies together. “I’d like to meet her, too. She must be pretty great if you’ve got half her genes.”

Harry shrugged one shoulder and swung their linked arms a little bit. “She’s alright, I s’pose.”

Louis knocked him with his shoulder and said, “Hope you have such raving endorsements for me as well.”

Harry fixed him with a look and deadpanned, “You’re okay. A six out of ten. Could be worse.”

Louis lifted his eyebrows and gasped. “You sure have a way of making a girl feel special.” He huffed. “Maybe I won’t come home with you after all.”

Placing his hands on Louis’ hips, Harry pulled Louis forward and placed his forehead against his, looking through his lashes. Harry smiled and pecked him softly. “We’re,” he murmured against Louis’ lips, “having fettucini alfredo tonight.”

“Quite big on the cheesy pastas, aren’t you?” Louis asked, smiling.

“Quite,” Harry replied, grinning.

Louis hummed and pulled away, saying, “I’m sold. What do you say we get out of this place?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Harry said in a lofty voice, offering his arm for Louis to take.

Louis smirked and pulled Harry towards the school's exit. "Said 'good morning' to you," he said conversationally. "This morning, on the phone. We never hung up."

Harry held his gaze and smiled warmly. "Did you now?"

"Mhm," Louis hummed, tilting his head a fraction. "Sang you the song from _Singin' in the Rain_ and everything."

Harry bit his lip and laughed. "Did not," he accused. "Would've definitely woken up for that."

Raising his eyebrows, Louis asked, "'F you weren't awake, who was singing Gene Kelly's parts with me?"

Harry shook his head and fixed his eyes on the ground, wide smile in place. "You're unbelievable."

Louis scoffed. "Says the boy who hijacked his sister's car," he said, poking Harry in the side and causing him to giggle.

They turned a corner and Louis wrapped his arm around Harry's waist, holding him lightly.

The sunlight glinted in Harry's eyes and he beamed at Louis. "Amazing," Harry said, like he was answering a question only he'd heard, but his voice was warm and his cheeks were dimpling and Louis found himself inclined to agree with Harry's assessment.

Louis’ hand migrated up to rest in Harry’s curls, but it was a lot harder to appreciate their softness while they were moving, so he gave up after a bit. Harry moved his neck back seemingly involuntarily and whined a bit as they passed a park near the school.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked, his tone whinging, and Louis laughed quietly.

“Needy bugger, aren’t you?” he said fondly, letting his hand return to its place resting on Harry’s waist.

“I’m _your_ needy bugger,” Harry said with a big grin. Louis just rolled his eyes, smirking until Harry leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Louis conceded loudly, laughing. “If I were to call you anything, that seems suitable enough.”

“At least,” Harry laughed with a hint of nervousness, “until, like, I don’t know, ‘boyfriend’ or—”

“Yeah, no, I just—” Louis stuttered, but Harry interrupted him.

“No, yeah, I—I totally get it.”

They kept walking for a bit and Louis’ bones felt a little heavy, slightly pressing against the walls of his skin as if trying to escape a cage. He could feel his own weight, could feel the air—sharp—forced into and out of his lungs. _You’ve really fucked up_ , he thought.

Harry knocked his hips into Louis’ and startled him out of his thoughts. “Hey,” Harry said, smiling softly, “it’s really fine.” He bit his lip, then continued, “If you don’t want to be my boyfriend, I mean. It’s sudden—I get it. No worries, Lou. Still like you.”

Louis swallowed. “‘S not that I don’t like you—you know that. It’s just—sudden.”

Harry stopped and turned to face Louis, scanning his face, before pulling him forward by the bottom of his shirt and kissing him tentatively. Louis leaned into it, closing his eyes. Harry pulled away gently and sang, “I’m gonna make you love me. I’m gonna dry your tears. We’re gonna stay together for a million years.”

Louis breathed out a laugh and tugged Harry forward into another kiss. “Couldn’t get used to this,” he marveled, taking in the glow of Harry’s skin and the translucence of his bottle-green eyes. “No matter if it was millions of billions of years. When they’re digging up our bones as fossils. Even fossil-me won’t be used to you, Harry Styles.”

“Fossil-you has lost a lot of weight. What’s his secret?” Harry teased, a laugh playing in his voice.

“I’ll let you in on it,” Louis said conspiratorially as he leaned in. “It’s the fact that he’s just bones and rock.”

Harry gasped, scandalized. “You don’t _say_. I declare!”

Louis was too busy laughing to tell Harry that he really did have the most atrocious American accent he’d probably ever heard.

Taking hold of Harry's arm, Louis entered Disc N' Dat, nodding at Liz, who'd lifted her head to see who had entered. Her eyes flicked down to where Louis was holding Harry's arm and she raised her eyebrows, fighting a smile. Louis quirked an eyebrow back at her and asked, "Where's Andre?"

"In the back," Liz said. "Heard you're joining our company full-time."

“You heard correctly, m’lady.” Louis grinned. “Now you get to see my beautiful face even more.”

“I should be so lucky,” Liz said as she rolled her eyes, but the smile playing on her lips was a dead giveaway that she was, in fact, very happy about this new development.

Louis mentally catalogued it and, turning to Harry, asked, "So... your house after?"

Harry laughed lightly and ducked his head, fringe falling forward, and said, "Yeah." His smile faltered, though, as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Unless you've changed your mind, of course," he added in a small voice.

Louis elbowed his ribs softly. "Now why would I do that after you've promised me pasta and a good time?"

Harry scuffed his foot against the edge of the counter and said, "Just checking."

Louis felt his heart get a little heavier and he said, "Come on, then. We'll give the forms to Andre and then we'll go to yours, yeah?"

Harry gave him a look, just for a second, and then smiled, nodding. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

They found Andre sorting through the donations box. He had just pulled out a Right Said Fred record, when Louis blurted, “I love them!”

Harry’s hand flew to his face immediately, and Andre fixed Louis with a glare. “Harry,” he began menacingly, “fix your boy. This is unacceptable.”

“Believe me, I know,” Harry groaned through his fingers. “I’m trying, really.”

“Hey! _His boy_ is standing right here!” Louis protested, waving the forms. “With things!”

“Course you are,” Andre grumbled, but his eyes held a glint of mischief as he took the sheets of paper from Louis and flipping through them. “Everything seems to be in order.”

Louis nodded curtly. “As it should be.” Harry smirked at the sergeant-like tone he’d adopted when talking to Andre.

“So when can you start?” Andre led them back to the front of the store, pulling out a giant wall calendar from underneath the counter. Every day’s square had names written in big, blocky handwriting—Andre, Liz, Harry, a boy that sometimes gave Louis recommendations called Zayn, and Eleanor, another girl who Louis’d only seen once or twice.

He barely had time to register that Harry’s name was next scheduled that Wednesday before he said, “Er, Wednesday, for sure.” If Andre caught on he didn’t show it as he marked in Louis’ name below Harry’s. Louis felt a little squeeze from behind, where Harry was standing, and he turned his head slightly and smiled.

He and Andre worked out a rough sketch of his schedule for the foreseeable future while Harry stayed behind, looking over Louis’ shoulder, and in the middle of it he felt a great disconnect from his own life. He had Harry—whatever they might be labeled, Louis _had_ him—and now he had a job, and—

Before he’d met Harry he didn’t dare be optimistic, wouldn’t let himself. The closest he got was fever dreams about leaving the house and maybe taking the girls with him once he’d turned eighteen. But nothing had ever indicated his life would be anything less than pure hell for its duration. He wasn’t content with it, per se, but he’d accepted the lot as his. And now this _Harry Styles_ came galavanting in without any regard to how Louis might feel about having somebody to live for, about a future that involved some semblance of light. He made an attempt at being bitter towards Harry, but he simply couldn’t find it in him. Cynicism had no place in the boy’s life and maybe, Louis thought, maybe one day he could afford to think like Harry, too.

“Hey,” Harry suddenly whispered in his ear while Andre went to enter Louis’ schedule in the system, and Louis didn’t even try to suppress a shiver. “C’mon, let’s go. Mum won’t be making dinner for another hour or so, and I think we could find something to do ‘til then, don’t you?”

Louis’ breath hitched in his throat, and he bit his tongue, one side of his lips quirked up involuntarily. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I reckon.”

Harry’s brow furrowed and he smiled, face flushed, and choked on a laugh. “Jesus, Lou.”

“What?” Louis chuckled. “You started it.”

“Well, what can I say?” Harry asked in a lowered voice, pressing his lips to the back of Louis’ neck. “M only human.”

Andre made a show of coming back in the room, and Harry straightened himself, but Louis couldn’t keep the smile off of his face, and he noticed Harry was having trouble, too. Louis turned away to laugh a little and, composing himself, said, “‘S that all that’s needed?”

Raising his eyebrows, Andre replied, “Yeah, yeah, go on, get out of here.”

Harry bowed and said, “With pleasure, sir,” and tugged Louis towards the door, stealing glances at him all the way. “Went well, don’t you think?” he asked, smiling.

Louis chuckled. “Well, yeah, Harry.” He ruffled Harry’s hair and continued, “How far away do you live?”

Harry squinted and pushed out his jaw and said, “Not sure, to be honest.” He laughed and added, “Never timed it or anything, but I think it’s probably only ten or fifteen minutes?”

Louis laughed at the question in Harry’s statement and said, “You know how to get there, though, right?” Harry grinned at him and Louis rubbed his face and said, “Come on, man, you said you were a compass.”

Harry doubled over in laughter and replied, “So I did. Yeah, I know how to get there, don’t worry. This way, Lou.” He outstretched his arm and Louis moved towards him swiftly and pressed his length about Harry and blew air into his ear. Harry’s eyes widened and then his face crumpled into a wide smile and his nose crinkled and he laughed, eyes fixed on Louis, and Louis thought to himself that it was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His stomach flipped and he smiled full-force at Harry and kissed his nose. Harry closed his eyes, smiling contentedly, youth playing on his features and Louis gently tugged on one of the curls over his eyes, humming, then moved forward and kissed the corner of Harry’s mouth. Harry smiled still more, wriggled a little, and opened his eyes partway, observing Louis with heavy eyelids and blown pupils.

Louis took all of Harry in and smiled, ducking his head, and said, “Which way again?”

Harry took a step closer and lifted Louis’ chin up with a couple of fingers. He pressed a soft yet insistent kiss to Louis’ lips. It didn’t take Louis long to hungrily press up against him and bury his hands in Harry’s curls. They built up a sort of fluid rhythm, moving slightly against each other along with their tongues until Harry pushed them apart with a small laugh.

“It’s this way,” he said almost breathlessly, taking Louis’ hand and walking across the street.

They continued on for about ten minutes, holding hands and talking about nothing in particular. Harry took him through alleys he didn’t even know existed, littered with vines crawling up the walls and chalk drawings across the bricks. Louis would never stop being fascinated with how much more Harry knew about the town than he did, despite only having lived there about two months.

He wasn’t really listening to what Harry was saying most of the walk, just marvelling at the fact that he was there, and so was Harry, and he didn’t want to think of the word _love_ just yet, but he had to concede to the fact that it might be within his grasp. So he tightened his hand in Harry’s and smiled, and took in the sunshine warming their skin.

“Here’s home,” Harry said as they rounded a corner. In front of them was a tall, sharply-edged building seemingly divided down the middle. The left side, jutted out in front, was practically identical to the right—thin, metal stairs led up to a similar porch. The door was tall and metal, with one long, narrow window running down one side of it. Three thick, wooden bars held up a balcony, and Louis noted that on one of the bars was 134A, whereas on the right side of the building, the bar said 134B. Louis himself liked the aesthetics, but it didn’t seem to fit with this view he had of Harry. He’d imagined the place Harry lived to be a quaint little cottage with talking forest creatures running in and out of the kitchen with Harry singing to them as they cleaned. Harry was soft and natural and light, and this—whatever it was, it didn’t play into any of that.

“It’s a duplex,” Harry explained, nodding at the building. “It’s a bit like a cross between a flat and a house. We share it with an old lady what lives next door. She’s really nice, and sometimes brings me really weird stuff she bakes, like maple donuts with bacon on them.”

“That actually sounds delicious,” Louis admitted, and Harry nodded with a smile.

“They are, they’re fantastic. I’ll bring you some at work sometime, yeah?”

“Well, I daresay you will,” Louis teased, leaning into Harry. “You’ve got sixteen years of not being in my life to make up for.”

“Fourteen,” Harry corrected softly, and Louis’ heart actually _fluttered_ at the boy’s vulnerability.

“Fourteen, right,” Louis smiled. “When’s your birthday, anyhow?”

“The first of February,” Harry said. “Mark the date.”

“Oh, I will do,” Louis nodded solemnly. “Mine’s Christmas Eve. Not hard to forget, so.”

“Christmas Eve? Really?” Harry laughed incredulously. “That must really suck, actually.”

“It does! No one ever understands!” Louis threw his hands up in the air. “Everyone’s like, oh, you’ll get twice the presents, but do you think anyone ever _remembers_ you were born when Jesus was, too?”

“Bit of a rough competition there,” Harry agreed. They were silent for a few seconds, and Harry took Louis’ hand back in his own, tugging a bit. “Come on, then. It’s almost dinnertime.”

“What if your mum and Gemma don’t like me?” Louis whispered as they ascended the stairs, and Harry let out a loud belly laugh that startled Louis almost enough to fall over.

“You’ll be out,” he said with barely-veiled sarcasm. “Gone forever from my life. If my family doesn’t like you I shall be forbidden to see you ever again.”

“You think you’re funny,” Louis informed him, “but you’re not.”

“They’re gonna absolutely adore you,” Harry said, amused as he pressed one quick kiss to Louis’ lips before he opened the door. Louis’ eyes darted around and he took in the front room of the flat—it was tidy and had a few framed pictures that Louis couldn’t see the details of and there was an old suitcase that had been reworked into a table with a potted plant on it. Louis looked at Harry only to find him smiling at him, easing the door shut, but before Louis could open his mouth to speak or run away altogether, Harry called out, “Mum? I’m home.”

There was the sound of hushed whispers and a phone being hung up and drawers being closed and quick footsteps and Louis held his breath. He not-so-vaguely wondered whether he’d made an enormous mistake in agreeing to coming to Harry’s for supper, wondered whether Harry’s mum was as emotionally fucked as his own, but then she— _Anne_ , he told himself—pushed through the door with a smile that Louis couldn’t help but recognize as Harry’s and he exhaled, immediately relaxed.

Anne came forward, pushing Harry’s fringe aside, and chastising him: “Well, aren’t you going to introduce us, Harry?”

Harry ducked his head and laughed, shifting his weight and scrubbing his hair. He moved to speak, but before he could, Louis was smiling brightly at Anne and extending his hand, saying, “Hi Mrs. Styles, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Louis.”

“Louis,” she smiled, taking his hand in both of hers. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you since your date.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up as she said the word ‘date’—the fact that Harry actually told her was a shock in itself, but he was most surprised at how okay with it she was.

“Oh,” Louis started, “well, I—”

“Is that Louis?” someone yelled from upstairs. “Is he here?”

 _Gemma_ , Harry mouthed to Louis as he rolled his eyes, and Louis laughed a little, but the nerves in his stomach tightened.

An incredibly pretty girl (Louis was able to appreciate her aesthetic beauty even if he wasn’t batting for her team) flounced down the stairs and stopped halfway down, staring at Louis.

“So this is him, then?” she asked with a practiced hard voice, and Louis’ brow knit as he wondered what he had done wrong.

“Oh, drop the ‘older sibling’ act, Gemma,” Anne groaned. “You’ve wanted to meet him as much as me, so don’t act like you’re going to murder him first chance you get.”

The corner of Gemma’s mouth twitched, but she said nothing as she continued down the stairs to appraise Louis.

“How old are you?” she asked him, giving him a once-over.

“I—sixteen?” He didn’t know why she was asking, but there you have it. “How old are _you_?”

She snorted. “Nineteen.”

“That’s enough interrogation, Gem,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes at her as he took Louis’ arm.

“Why don’t you show Louis your room, Harry?” Anne suggested with a kind smile. “I’ve got a couple things left to prepare for dinner, so you’ve got some time.”

“Let me know if you need help with anything!” Louis called as she headed into the kitchen. “I’m actually a halfway decent cook.”

Harry lightly tugged him towards the stairs. “No cooking. Come on.” Louis stumbled forward, catching a last glance at Gemma, whose eyebrows were raised. He smiled to himself, relieved to be leaving (for the meantime) a space where he felt scrutinized, despite how warm Anne had been to him. The whole first-meeting thing had gone alright, but Louis was looking forward to being tucked gently away with only Harry, if only for a short while.

They reached Harry’s room and, smiling, Harry asked, “Are you ready to see where the magic happens, Louis?”

“Absolutely,” Louis beamed.

Harry opened the door and bowed, saying, “After you, m’lord.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” Louis replied, stepping inside.

Harry’s room was not unlike Harry himself. More than anything, it warm and inviting. Posters entirely covered one wall ( _Boondock Saints_ , “Andre the Giant has a posse”, and a promotional concert poster from the 70s for the Rolling Stones, among others), his bed was a mattress on the ground with simple navy blue sheets, and his desk only had a lamp, a MacBook, and a lit candle on it.

“The candle’s pine-scented,” Harry informed him, and Louis could smell it. “Mum got it for me ‘cause I’m a boy and boys smell.”

“We really do,” Louis agreed with a smile. “Your room is nice. It’s like you.”

“Hm?” Harry asked, kicking off his shoes and sitting down on the mattress.

“Like, it feels like you. It’s cozy and warm and personal, and those are all... I don’t know, they’re all things that I like about you.” Louis regretted bringing it up, but Harry was beaming up at him.

“Come here,” he said, reaching up at him. Louis sat down beside him, and Harry scooted close and wrapped his arms around Louis.  “Glad you’re here,” he muttered as he kissed Louis, soft but insistent. Louis cupped Harry’s face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs over Harry’s cheekbones, his eyebrows, his everything.

“I like you a lot,” Louis whispered in between kisses, and he could feel Harry smile against him.

“I like _you_ a lot,” was Harry’s response. Louis laughed a little, moving to kiss Harry’s jaw. Harry arched his neck and turned so they were facing each other more fully. Louis started sucking gently down Harry’s neck, and he could feel the vibrations of Harry’s moan against his lips. He leaned against Harry, and Harry lay back on the mattress, smiling up at Louis. Louis’ heart stuttered a bit, but he shifted his body so he was straddling the boy. The candle and lamplight cast deep shadows in Harry’s face and Louis didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful in his life—Harry’s dimples were heightened, his smile brighter, his eyes gleaming. Louis leaned down and pressed soft, languid kisses to Harry’s lips, savoring it. He nudged Harry’s chin up, giving him better access to the skin on his neck, and started sucking lovebites he knew would blossom later. Groaning, Harry grabbed tightly on to Louis’ side—right on one of the bruises from the day before. Louis gasped in pain and winced, every muscle tightening as he pulled away.

“Louis?” Harry frowned as he sat up on his elbows. “Are you alright? I didn’t grab you that hard, did I?”

“No, it—it wasn’t you, it was...” Louis’ throat was suddenly cotton-dry and he couldn’t, he couldn’t tell him, didn’t want him to know.

But there he was holding his side, and Harry’s voice was borderline unsure as he said, “Louis, can you take off your shirt?”

Louis laughed, but it wasn’t all there. “Oh, I see. That’s all you want from me, is it? I—”

“Louis.” Harry’s eyes were shining in the light, but it wasn’t from happiness or any sort of lust. Louis hated himself for being the cause of Harry’s worry. He fixated on the floor as he pulled his shirt off, slowly, and he could feel his heart twisting as Harry inhaled sharply.

“Louis, who the fuck—who did this to you?” Louis said nothing, and Harry knelt down on the floor, put a strong hand on Louis’ knee. “Please,” Harry said, hesitating a little, “tell me who hurt you.”

Louis looked into Harry’s eyes and he could feel tears prickling at the back of his own. He could have lived a thousand years without ever seeing Harry upset again and it would be too soon.

“Mark,” he said finally. “My stepfather.”

Harry’s jaw hardened as he stood. “Fucking—I’ll kill him. I mean, I thought something was going on, but... this is fucking _sick_ , Lou, I—”

“Harry, stop it,” Louis said with a wavering voice. “You can’t—you can’t do anything to stop this. My mum can’t, I can’t, no one can.” He hatedhow defeatist he sounded, but he’d be damned if Harry got hurt defending him.

“How can you say that?” Harry asked incredulously. “You could, I don’t know, report him to the police or social services or—”

“No one would believe us,” Louis scoffed. “And I’ll take every single punch and kick if it means no one takes the girls away from me. It’s not ideal, shit, but it’s all I’ve fucking _got_ , Harry.”

“You’ve got me,” Harry said in a small voice, and Louis felt very, very removed. He stood and nuzzled his head in the crook between Harry’s shoulder and his neck.

“Yeah,” he said, voice muffled and broken. “Guess I do.”

Harry swallowed and shook his head. Louis could hear the tears in his voice as he said, “Lou, there’s gotta be—there’s gotta be something. There _has_ to be something, some way to fix this. You can’t—”

Louis screwed his eyes closed and blindly found Harry’s mouth with his own, roughly demanding access which Harry readily gave. Louis tried to say in kisses what he couldn’t say in words. His throat was still constricted and his arms were shaking, but he pulled Harry still closer and pressed against him, and continued to kiss him. After a few minutes, Louis pulled back and examined Harry—Harry opened his eyes, half bewildered, and despite everything his forehead was still wrinkled with concern.

Harry held his gaze for all of two seconds before averting his eyes to his left and lifting a hand to wipe away some tears. Louis felt nauseous. He took in Harry and how _broken_ he seemed and felt his world collapsing.

_You did that._

“Harry,” Louis said because he had to, looking down at the floor, “it’s not—it’s not hopeless. Soon enough I’ll be able to leave and go to uni and then I’ll be a legal adult and maybe,” he stuttered, “maybe I’ll be able to call social then, you know? I’m the only one of the kids he goes after and if I’m out of the house, maybe the girls’ll get to stay with my mum.”

He raised his eyes. Harry was still before him, sniffling, but he was smiling a little wryly and he said, “Fuck, Louis, if you ever—if you need anything—”

“I know,” Louis said with a smile that felt strained but he hoped looked natural. “Your door’s always open, right?”

“Always,” Harry nodded, taking Louis’ hand. Louis pulled him in and wrapped his arms around him and they stood like that for a while, holding each other and swaying a bit.

Harry raised his head from Louis shoulder and murmured into his ear, “You should probably put your shirt back on. In case my mum or Gemma barges in.”

Louis laughed a little, grateful for the light tone he knew Harry was trying to foster. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want them to think I’ve unsavory motives, would we?”

Harry smiled, but it was transparent, didn’t reach his eyes, and Louis knew he just wasn’t trying to make things any more fragile than they already were. He leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek, and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said quietly, and Harry nodded—not, Louis thought, out of conceit, but understanding.

“Got pretty lucky with you myself,” Harry said as he nudged his body into Louis’. Louis still couldn’t quite understand Harry’s line of thinking with that one, but he figured he was stuck with it for the foreseeable future, so he might at least try to get used to it.

“Boys?” Anne called from downstairs. “It’s time for dinner.”

Louis smiled cautiously at Harry as he turned to pick up his shirt and pull it over his head. “I’m excited,” he informed Harry. “I haven’t had proper chicken alfredo in ages.”

“And this is my _mum’s_ ,” Harry bounced up and down. “You’re gonna fucking love it.”

“I bet,” he chuckled, but it cut off as Gemma opened the door.

“Mum says come down,” she informed Harry, but she never broke eye contact with Louis, and he squirmed a bit where he stood.

“Yeah, we know, we heard her,” Harry scowled, shoving her out. “Leave us alone.” Before she left the doorway, her eyes flicked down to Harry’s bed, where the sheets had been twisted and shoved off the mattress. Louis’ heart constricted, but Harry’s hand found his lower back and he relaxed.

“Sorry she’s being like that,” Harry apologized, rubbing Louis’ back. “She’s just, I don’t know, looking after me, I guess.”

Louis shrugged and smiled at him. “I’ll be the same way with Lottie in five years, honestly. God help whoever she ends up with.”

Harry giggled as he left the room, pulling Louis with him. “Dinner!” he shouted into the house, and Louis snorted. With his hand firmly in Harry’s, Louis took the stairs two at a time, taking a breath and steeling himself, smiling as the two of them entered into the dining room. The places were already set and Anne beamed at them as she made her way over, carrying the pot of pasta.

Reaching Louis, she asked, “How much d’you want, love? You feeling very hungry or a little hungry or somewhere in between?”

He laughed lightly and replied, “Think somewhere in between, thank you.” Louis smiled at Anne while she served the pasta, his eyes crinkled, and he felt Harry’s knee lightly pressing against his. Louis tilted his head to look at Harry and Harry was beaming at him, looking incredibly happy just to have him there. With Harry’s eyes still trained on him, Louis breathed out a laugh and felt his neck flush. “Hey,” he said to Harry, pushing his knee against his.

Harry smirked and said, “Hey,” ducking his head and messing with his hair a little. Louis’ heart swelled and pushed against his chest. What he loved about Harry was hard to say, honestly. It wasn’t just his wide eyes or his constant need to adjust his hair or the way he could see Harry’s smile before it pushed its way into his features—it was all of those things and more. Louis’ favorite part of Harry was all of Harry. Each part of Harry played into the others; there was no getting around it.

“So, Louis,” Gemma said, getting his attention, “You’re sixteen, right? What are you thinking of doing after school? A-levels?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but Louis smiled, big, and replied, “Well, I honestly haven’t given too much thought to it, but if I were to go to uni I’d probably study drama, literature, music, and maybe something quirky like Hebrew.”

“Really?” Harry asked, smiling a little. “What do you want to do?”

“If everything works out I’d like to be a drama teacher,” Louis nodded, moving his pasta around on his plate. “Or music. Either one, really, I’m not picky.”

“Well, that’s very interesting,” Anne smiled at him and he marveled at the way the lines in her face were kindly worn, laugh lines and crow’s feet. Louis’ mother was beautiful, but since marrying Mark she’d been looking more and more run-down until the woman in the photos they kept in albums under the stairs was almost unrecognizable to Louis. The bruises on his side throbbed.

“Yeah, I just really like the idea of helping younger kids, you know?” He knit his brow, nodding. “Helping them find their way in life and all that.”

Harry beamed at him. “That’s really great, Lou. I wish I could be a teacher but God knows I’m terrible at dealing with regular people. I don’t know how I’d handle miniature ones. I love kids, but they’re—it takes a special person to teach ‘em, I suppose.”

Louis almost choked on his mouthful of broccoli. Swallowing and coughing, he said, “Well, I’ve sort of got to be good with kids with four sisters, I guess.”

“Four siblings?” Gemma smirked, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “I can barely manage one.”

“That’s what Harry said, actually,” Louis laughed, and he was too busy holding on to the fact that he and Gemma might possibly be bonding to pick up on the death glare Harry was giving the two of them.

“Hey!” Harry protested loudly. “I _am_ still here, you know.”

Louis reached over and ruffled his hair, laughing at him. “Of course you are, Haz.”

Harry lifted his chin, smiling at Louis, and Louis froze for a second, remembering how Harry’s family was _right there_ and inevitably watching his every movement (more or less). Taking one curl between his fingers, Louis looked up and caught Gemma and Anne both smiling fondly at the two of them. Seeing the characteristic Styles look of affection, Louis relaxed and, looking at Anne, said, “Lovely dinner. You’re a wonderful cook.”

Anne flicked her eyes to Gemma and grinned at Louis, saying, “Wonderful company, too.”

Smiling in what he hoped was a demure manner, Louis turned his eyes downward. “You flatter me, Mrs. Styles.”

She laughed, saying, “You do yourself a disservice! You’re the most charming young man I’ve ever met, bar none.”

“You can’t have met many young men, then,” Louis remarked before he could filter it, and Gemma laughed loudly, clapping her hands together.

“You know, I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I’ve changed my mind. I like you,” she told Louis, laughter still in her voice. “He’s a keeper, Harry.”

“Don’t I know it,” Harry said, amused, and Louis’ insides lit up.

“So,” Louis said after Gemma and Anne had some filler conversation about Gemma’s job while Harry and Louis ate in silence, “Harry told me you’ve all just moved here recently? If you don’t mind my asking... why? I mean, like, why Doncaster, because I’ve lived here all my life and getting out is pretty high on my list of priorities.”

Anne laughed a bit, but sadness tinged it. “Well, um, Harry and Gemma’s father—”

“He walked out on us,” Gemma said, and it was obvious she wasn’t concerned with disguising her bitterness.

“ _Gemma_ ,” Anne said sharply, but Gemma didn’t relent.

“It’s true, mum.” She turned to Louis. “One day he said he was going out for cigarettes, and he never came back.”

Harry was looking down at his lap, and Louis’ heart hurt immensely for him, and for Gemma, and for Anne. He wouldn’t mind Mark never returning after a day at work, but Harry had mentioned his father before, and Louis had just assumed they were divorced, not—abandoned.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and meant it. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Anne sighed and raised her eyebrows. “Nothing to be done, love. You didn’t know, and we’re working through it. Or trying to,” she amended, glancing at Gemma.

“But to answer your question,” Gemma ignored her mother and addressed Louis, “we chose Doncaster because mum knew someone here who could get her a job, and no matter where we went, it would be bigger and better than Holmes Chapel.”

“Fair enough,” Louis nodded, entirely grateful for the change of topic. “I’d offer my services as a tour guide, but Harry already knows the place better than I do.”

“I just have an insane amount of free time and I get bored easily,” Harry commented. He wrung his hands softly and glanced up at Louis. Louis’ breath caught in his throat and he blinked at Harry, eyebrows questioning. After a moment’s silence, Louis tore his eyes away from Harry’s.

Anne was smiling at him and she said, “So, Harry says you got a job at the record shop?”

Louis laughed lightly and replied, “Well, Harry kinda got me the job.”

Grinning sheepishly, Harry murmured, “Only helped the process a little.”

“Ever the modest one,” Louis hummed. He and Gemma smirked at each other and Louis squeezed Harry’s knee gently.

Gemma flicked her eyes between the two of them, smiling, and said, “How are you liking Harry’s music?”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up and he made to answer, but before he could get a thought formed, Harry said, “Told her the day I met you about sending you off with my records.”

Lips quirked, Louis replied, “The day we met?”

Harry ducked his head and smiled. “Yeah.”

Louis found himself staring, so he cleared his throat and turned his attention to Gemma. “Well, he’s got really odd taste, and I was... skeptical at best about it.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Louis cut him off, “But for the most part I’ve rather enjoyed the records.”

“He _doesn’t like the Spice Girls_ ,” Harry said in a horrified voice, and Gemma gasped theatrically.

"Technically," Louis said, "I haven't tried the Spice Girls."

“Well, once you do you’re gonna love ‘em,” Harry assured him, nodding seriously.

“So I’ve been told,” Louis replied, smiling.

Harry chuckled and shoved him lightly. "Wanker," he muttered under his breath.

"Harry!" Anne exclaimed, but she was biting back a smile.

They continued like that for the rest of the meal, and Louis could tell Gemma was warming up to him. She laughed at his jokes and even began asking less... invasive questions about his life. He understood, though—older siblings have that sort of innate drive to protect the younger ones, something he knew all too well.

They finished their dinner, clearing their plates, and Anne excused herself into the kitchen. “Dessert,” Harry whispered conspiratorially, and Louis grinned in excitement.

“If we’re lucky,” Gemma said, “and I have a feeling that we might be, she’ll have made her blueberry pie, and we can have it with ice cream.”

“ _God_ ,” Harry moaned, which startled a laugh out of Louis. “Her blueberry pie is the best, Lou, I don’t think you understand.”

“Lou, huh?” Gemma’s lips quirked up. “Already to the nicknames, are we, baby Hazza?”

“Awww, baby Haz,” Louis cooed, pinching Harry’s cheek before he could be swatted away.

“Shut up, Gemmifer,” Harry grumbled and Louis snorted.

“That’s not really your name, is it?” he asked her, and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s something he likes to call me ‘cause it used to annoy me when we were kids. But I’m a mature adult now,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Harry to make the point.

“Who wants pie?” Anne said, backing through the door carrying a pie tin. “Gemma, go get the vanilla ice cream and spoons.”

“Yes!” She laughed, practically leaping out of her chair and into the kitchen.

Harry grabbed some plates off a nearby counter and placed them on the table, raising his eyebrows at Louis as he put his down. Louis gawked, standing a few feet from Harry. He looked to Anne and back to Harry and laughed. “You did an amazing job raising this one,” Louis said. “Proper gentleman.” Under his breath, he added, “To a fault,” which earned him a laugh from Anne.

Anne walked over and ruffled Harry’s hair, saying, “Yes, he’s... he takes it very seriously, I suppose.”

Louis smirked as Harry came to stand next to him, pressing his leg against Harry’s. Holding ice cream and four spoons of differing sizes, Gemma pushed through the doorway and asked, “Who takes what seriously?”

“Harry,” Louis replied, “is very much dedicated to being incredibly polite.”

“Is he now?” she asked, eyes flashing to Harry and a grin on her face.

Harry flushed and stared at his plate. “What’s wrong with having manners?” he demanded.

Louis laughed and reached over and pet Harry’s head. “Nothing, babe. You’re lovely.”

Gemma tittered but said nothing. Louis’ face heated and Harry smiled at him, scanning his face, and then said, “Yeah?”

Laughing softly, Louis replied, “Yeah.”

There was a beat and Harry and Louis gazing at each other and then Gemma clapped and said, “So, pie?”

“Right,” Harry said, clearing his throat and moving to sit down. Louis crossed over to join him, but Harry held his arm out in front of him.

“Nope,” he said, grinning. “You’re so obsessed with me being polite, I’ll be the most polite boy you’ve ever _seen_ , Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis really saw no point in protest, so he hung his head and stepped back as Harry pulled out his chair, grinning like a madman. “After you, dear,” he said, and Louis groaned as he took his seat.

“So are you guys, like, boyfriends or what?” Gemma said plainly, passing out the spoons. “Because you’ve only been on one date but you act like an old married couple.”

Louis wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulder and squeezed by his collar bone. “Just working on getting the wedding vows in order,” he said, smiling widely.

Harry grinned, fixing his eyes on Louis’ lips, and said, “To Louis, who I’ve known for ten days: You are the love of my life. You are my fire, my one desire.”

Louis sputtered and, nose crinkling, laughed whole-heartedly. “Sure know how to charm a guy.”

Harry winked and said, “Learned all my finest techniques from pop bands, honestly. ‘S how I know that I have to get with your friends if I want to be your lover.”

“Best get on that,” Louis deadpanned.

“Personally,” Gemma put in, “I think it shows horrible form to go ‘round to someone’s friends if you want to be with _them_.”

Harry gasped and clutched his heart. “You dare question the Spice Girls?”

Louis gave her a thumbs-up and Anne sighed exasperatedly, saying, “Now you’ve done it. World War III is going to start in this dining room.” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer and said, “All thanks to the Spice Girls, no less. Should’ve known.”

Harry beamed at her and said, “The enemy at home,” as seriously as he could manage, looking inordinately proud of himself. Louis scoffed and Harry tilted his head to regard him, smiling still wider. “Which country are you going to join up with, Lou?”

Rolling his eyes, Louis replied, “I am a neutral party, thank you very much. Besides, ‘s hardly two separate countries.”

“Don’t know,” Gemma said, laughing. “The table _is_ a wide divide.”

“Can hardly hear ya over there,” Harry said, reaching for the knife and cutting a slice of pie. He placed it on a plate and passed it towards Anne, before doing the same for Gemma and Louis and finally himself, and said, “Think this can act as a treaty.”

“Incredible,” Louis mused. “I think you two managed to beat out the Zanzibar War for the shortest war ever.”

“Ah, but it _felt_ like a hundred years, eh, Gem?” Harry said, cheeks dimpling.

Gemma crossed her arms and fixed him with a look, but said, “Can’t stay mad at you, Har. ‘Specially not when pie’s involved.”

Louis chuckled. “Takes a strong person to.”

“Strong stomach, too,” Harry added, nodding solemnly. He turned to Gemma and asked, “Can you pass the ice cream, please?”

Once each of them had gotten their proper share of ice cream for their pie slices—Harry insisted on two and a half scoops each—they tucked into their desserts, each of them murmuring their thanks to Anne, who ate delicately, smiling down at her plate and laughing between accepting her due praise.

Louis was enjoying being in a mostly functional family setting, but then he dropped his napkin and, bending down to pick it up, caught a glimpse of the time on his watch. 8:04. Mark was going to kill him. As he moved back into place, he caught Harry’s eyes and lifted his eyebrows significantly. Harry’s brow furrowed and Louis nodded, lifting his chin a fraction. Harry looked over to his mum and said, “Hey, mum? Lou’s gotta head home. ‘S got loads more classwork than me.”

“Not hard to do,” Anne said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “I swear all this boy does in school is give his teachers something to look at.”

“Well, I’m adorable, so.” Harry shrugged. “They’re welcome.”

“Debatable,” Gemma murmured, but ducked when Harry launched his spoon at her head.

“I hope you don’t tell your parents how dysfunctional we are, Louis,” Anne joked, but Louis felt a frown tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Trust me, Mrs. Styles,” he said, attempting a smile too late, “couldn’t be any worse than mine.”

Harry cleared his throat and stood up from his chair, and Louis was immensely grateful. “I’m gonna see Louis out, okay, mum?”

She nodded and smiled, standing up and crossing to the other side and wrapping him in a hug before he knew it. “It was so lovely to meet you, Louis, really,” she said, rubbing his back in a way that he hadn’t felt since he was a small boy. “You can come over whenever you like.”

He smiled tightly and nodded, a small lump in his throat beginning to form. “Thank you,” was all he could get out before he squeezed her tightly and turned so she couldn’t see his wet eyes. Harry could, though, and Louis thought that he probably understood.

Louis blinked his tears away as Harry pulled him towards the door. Waving back at Anne from a distance, Louis shouted, “Thanks again for everything!” and pulled the door shut, pausing with Harry on the porch for a second.

Harry looked at him, clearly concerned, but smiled nonetheless and said, “Think that went rather well, don’t you?”

“Aside from the point where I nearly outed my family situation, yeah, I’d say so,” Louis replied, rubbing his temple. “Thanks for getting me out, Harry.”

Frowning, Harry asked, “You going to be alright, Lou? Is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll be fine,” Louis murmured. “Can you take me home?”

Harry nodded and pulled on Louis’ shirt, bringing him closer, pressing his lips softly against Louis’. “Love you, you know,” Harry whispered, voice strained.

Louis screwed his eyes shut and nodded, because yes, he did know. He knew it right down to his bruised and aching bones, knew it from the second they met. “I love you too,” he said so softly he could barely hear the words.

“You deserve... so much more than what you’ve been given, Louis.” Louis could hear his voice breaking, and that was it, that was what pushed him over the edge. He pulled them into each other and wrapped his arms around Harry and buried his face in his shoulder.

They didn’t stay like that for long, Harry gently pushing them apart after a few moments. “Got to get you home,” he murmured, ghosting his hands over Louis’ side where he knew the bruises were.

“What about Gemma?” Louis asked, rubbing a thumb over Harry’s cheek. “It’s her car, right?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, scuffing his feet against the ground. “I think I’m allowed this one illegal ride home for you.” He paused, nudged Louis’ foot with his own. “She likes you. So does my mum.”

Louis’ eyes softened and he smiled, his heartbeat picking up speed. Harry took his hand and squeezed, saying, “I’ll be right back. Just gotta nick the keys.”

Louis swallowed and nodded, wringing his hands as Harry opened the door, disappeared for a few seconds, and reappeared with jangling keys. He flung an arm over Louis’ shoulder and skipped down the steps, smiling wide. “Think I can get from here to yours with only minor confusion,” he said, laughing a little.

Inhaling, Louis tucked his lips and pulled on Harry’s shirt collar, pecking him on the lips and then by his left eye, causing him the scrunch up his face a little. Harry laughed and moved towards Louis’ ear, asking, “You gonna get mad at me if I open your door?”

Louis laughed and shoved Harry towards the car. “Shut up, you prat.”

“Never,” Harry replied. “You love it.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis sighed and said, “Don’t you dare take advantage of me, Harry Styles.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babe,” Harry said, punctuating it with a wink and pulling the car door open. Louis moved forward and tugged Harry into a tender kiss for a couple of seconds, sliding his mouth against Harry’s and then pushing Harry away lightly and hopping into the car and shutting its door. Louis watched Harry’s face as he did it, saw him go from a look of surprise to fondness. Harry’s lips quirked and he gave Louis a once-over before going around to the other side of the car and getting in.

The drive passed quickly, and Louis noticed that Harry still had his “be calm” CD on.

(“Sloppy technique,” Louis said, to which Harry hummed. “Leaving the CD in,” Louis added, clicking his tongue in reproach. “No way Gemma wouldn’t know you’ve used the car.” Harry laughed and told him to shut up, no heat behind his words at all.)

They pulled up to Louis’ flat and Harry looked at him with wide eyes. Louis swallowed and closed his eyes, nodding. “Yeah, it’ll be fine,” he said.

Harry frowned, biting his lip, and said, “If you need anything—”

Louis shifted forward and kissed Harry. “I know, Hazza,” he said after. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, screwing his eyes shut. “‘M sorry.”

“‘S not your fault,” Louis said, rubbing a hand over Harry’s upper arm. “‘S not anyone’s fault, really.”

“Should’ve thought to—to get you home sooner, or—” Harry opened his eyes and Louis could see despite the darkness that they were wet with tears.

Louis shook his head emphatically. “No. Harry—you didn’t even _know_. Don’t. Please.” Louis moved forward to press his forehead against Harry’s. “Please, Harry. It’s—it is what it is.”

“But it shouldn’t be,” Harry replied, eyes closed again and breathing shallowly. “It—you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Of course, Louis did agree, but at this point he’d gotten more or less used to his lot in life. He didn’t count on Mark improving as a human being, figured that ship had sailed, but he did hope to keep some things in his life okay, and when he thought about one day being  okay, he inevitably found his mind settled on images of Harry among his imaginings of him and his mum and sisters somewhere _safe_.

“Harry,” Louis said, “I’ll be okay. I’m always okay.”

Harry nodded, eyes fixed on his hands. He lifted his gaze to Louis and, lighted by the glow of the streetlights, Louis saw that his eyes were red and a little puffy, and he shifted a little closer to peck him again.

“‘Ve gotta go,” Louis said. “Going to try to pretend I’d told Mark I had work today, see if he remembers that he didn’t just forget.”

Harry pressed a kiss to the corner of Louis’ lips and gave him a wary smile. “See you tomorrow, Lou.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. “See you at school.”

Louis opened his own door and stepped out, waving meekly at Harry, and headed up the stairs to his flat. Harry stayed there until Louis closed the door—Louis could see him start to pull away through the peephole once he was inside—and Louis took a deep breath. He walked slowly, quietly towards the stairs. He looked cautiously around and began to climb up to his room and found that he wasn’t stopped. Once inside, however, he noticed he wasn’t alone. Lottie was lying down on his bed, chin resting in her hands.

“Covered for you,” she said.

“Mm?”

“Said you had a group project.”

Louis exhaled. “What would I do without you, Lot?”

“Be bored, probably,” she replied. “Where were you really?”

“Harry had me over for dinner,” he said, smiling.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” she sing-songed.

He moved forward to ruffle her hair and said, “Yeah, Harry,” in the same lilting voice. “Met his mum and sister. They were lovely.”

“Ooh, you met his _mum_ ,” she asked, smirking.

“The wedding’s on Tuesday,” he deadpanned.

“Can I be best man?”

“Of course.”

Louis got into the bed beside her, and they continued discussing Louis and Harry’s wedding for a while—color schemes, invitations, whether or not it was ethically sound to have doves released—and then Lottie’s breathing became shallower and Louis saw that her eyes were closed. He carried her down to her room, tucked her into bed, and headed back up to his room, closing the door again.

He texted Harry, _my sister covered xx_ , then changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth and curled up in bed, wrapping himself in blankets and pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much to say except thanks for reading!! we love you a lot!! :)


	7. vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry. OR: Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives.
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

The next six months are a blur of bruises, late-night texting, records, kisses, and affectionate murmurs—quick affirmations that yes, they really do love each other. Louis normally would have been surprised at how quickly the days had gone by, but Harry made everything so much lighter, so much more _worth it_.

There was one night in December when he was at the Styles’ house under the guise that he was working late at the store. He and Harry were laying together on Harry’s bed, tangled up in the sheets with their clothes on, because they couldn’t think of a better way to get warm, and listening to what had become arguably Louis’ favorite of the original stack of albums Harry’d lent him that first day, The Beatles’ _White Album_. He liked the huge diversity of the music in one album—it could go from pop to country to dance-hall music—and he was even beginning to be able to tell the individual band members apart by their voices.

“Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” was playing, and Louis was smiling and tapping his foot on Harry’s thigh in time with the happy tune.

“Feels wrong to be listening to this in the dead of winter,” Harry mused.

“What, the album?” Louis’ forehead wrinkled in confusion, and Harry shook his head.

“No, this song. It’s so happy and, like... beach-y. Feels like we should be holding hands and skipping through a flower meadow while it plays in the background.”

“Well,” Louis smiled, taking Harry’s hand in his own, “we can do one of those things.”

“Maybe we’ll be like Desmond and Molly,” Harry said airily, turning on his back to stare at the ceiling. “Only I’ll be in a band and you’ll be a teacher instead of whatever the fuck Desmond does in the marketplace.”

“And we’ll have hundreds of kids,” Louis added, nodding solemnly. “An entire village.”

“Well, it does take a village to raise a child,” Harry responded, chuckling softly.

Louis rolled his eyes and shook his head. “That,” he said, “was truly awful.”

Harry grinned and shrugged. “Could do worse.”

Smirking, Louis leaned forward on his elbows and pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s eyebrow. “S’pose so,” he mumbled, and Louis knew the sudden warmth rising in his chest had little to do with the blankets.

Most weeks had some nights like that—they never went more than a few days without seeing each other, never let the stress of school or work (or, in Louis’ case, home) stop them from finding little spaces to meet up, if only for a few minutes. Between classes, Harry and Louis would speak in hushed tones, their unavoidable smiles the only indicators that they were together. Some days, Louis’d look over at Harry, who’d be carrying his books, and wonder how in the world he had gotten so lucky.

Louis still hadn’t told Jay or the other girls about Harry, and he certainly hadn’t told Mark, though he figured Mark probably had some idea. In general, Louis started living in his head more than usual, spending significant portions of time thinking about ways he could spend more time with Harry, ways he could get out of the house and over to Harry’s. When it was nearing Louis’ birthday, Harry told him that he’d take him out one of the days beforehand, but that he’d stop by for a few minutes on Louis’ actual birthday and was that alright? Overwhelmed with affection for Harry, Louis’d kissed him and nodded, saying that of course it was okay, and thinking that he really could kiss Harry for being so understanding, so he did—again and again.

They were downtown, and Louis’d always been charmed by that part of Doncaster at Christmastime. The shop owners strung lights from the overhangs and placed trees in the window displays and lit gingerbread-scented candles indoors. Louis loved Christmas—loved noses red from the cold, holiday-themed coffees, even the songs. And the fact that this particular holiday season included Harry magnified everything tenfold until Louis was so full with pure happiness that sometimes he felt he could burst.

Snow fell as they stood on the sidewalk, and Harry presented some in his ungloved hands to Louis on his birthday, shivering with chattering teeth.

“Happy birthday, Lou!” he exclaimed, and Louis tugged on one of the curls peeking out under his beanie.

“Happy un-birthday, Harry,” he said back. “‘S this my present, then?”

Harry giggled and said, “No, of course not. ‘Ve got your present in the car.”

Louis pulled Harry closer with a pinch at the fabric by Harry’s shirt tails and pecked him quick, saying, “Let me take this off your hands,” and grabbing the snow from Harry. Harry grinned and wiped his hands quickly on his thighs and kissed the juncture between Louis’ neck and his shoulder—one of the few places on Louis not covered in scarves or jumpers. Louis pushed him away gently, laughing and pulling Harry’s hat off to properly ruffle his hair.

“Gotta get your gift,” Harry said breathlessly into Louis’ ear.

“Yes, alright,” Louis replied reasonably, nodding and pulling back from where he had been holding on to Harry’s collar with his teeth. Harry brushed away Louis' fringe and kissed his forehead, a quick press of chapped lips.

“Be right back,” he said, smiling as he skipped away to the car. Louis admired him, long since accepting that his existence didn’t make any sense.

With his arms behind him, Harry bounded back towards Louis. He beamed and bounced forward on his heels and said, "Happy birthday, Lou."

Louis leaned to the side and tried to peek behind Harry's back, but Harry shifted to keep his hands hidden and stumbled backwards. Louis rolled his eyes and smiled. "What is it, then?" he asked.

Harry's eyes brightened and he threw his arm forward, firmly gripping two wrapped presents. "It seemed fitting," he said, grinning while he shrugged.

Louis raised his eyebrows and bit his lip and extended his arms to take the presents from Harry, feeling laughter rising in his chest all the while.

Harry ducked his head and laughed again and said, "Go on, then," poking Louis' arm.

Louis frowned at him. "Okay, okay," he replied, balancing the more pliant package in his left arm and opening the distinctly record-shaped one with his hands.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw the sleeve and he could already feel tears forming in his eyes. “You... I don’t fucking believe you, Harry Styles,” he laughed, crumpling up the wrapping paper as he looked down at a Jay-Z album with a distinct signature in the corner. “Is this the—”

“The one from the day we first met? Yeah.” Harry grinned, and Louis really couldn’t blame him for being proud of himself. “I bought it for you that week. Been waiting to give it to you for months.”

“I love you,” Louis said, his voice breaking with emotion. “So much. I loved you before I was born and I’ll love you after I’m dead.”

Harry pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing his back as he whispered into Louis’ ear, “Me too, Louis. You’re the love of my life.”

“Lucky me,” Louis said into Harry’s shoulder, closing his eyes so he could take in Harry’s familiar, warm smell under the whipping winds.

Harry pushed them apart softly only to catch Louis’ mouth on his own. Warmth radiated through Louis’ body and he buried his fingers in Harry’s curls, wet from the snow, as he deepened the kiss. He sucked forcefully on Harry’s bottom lip and Harry moaned into his mouth and pressed them even closer together. The crinkle of wrapping paper between their bodies reminded Louis that Harry’d included a part two in the present, and he regretfully broke the kiss to look down at the (now somewhat smushed) package.

“I ruined it,” Louis said simply and with little remorse.

“Nah,” Harry said, handing it to him. “This particular present is impossible to ruin.”

“Hmmmm.” Louis tapped his finger to his chin in thought. “Is it a small family of elves?”

“Better not be, else you’d have killed them,” Harry grinned, biting his lip. He nudged Louis in the chest with the package. “Open it, yeah?”

Louis flicked his eyes up and down Harry’s torso and leaned forward, tilting his head just so for another quick kiss, and then he stepped back and held up a finger to stop Harry, whose eyes were heavy-lidded and whose body was almost comically bent forward to best angle himself for more kissing. His brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth tugged down into a slight frown that was just barely suppressing a wider smile and Louis laughed and pulled at one of the tears in the wrapping paper of the present and said thoughtfully, “Feels like clothes.”

Harry hummed and put his arms behind his back, bouncing forward on his heels and smiling brightly. Louis peeled back the paper more fully, completely giving up any hope of keeping it intact like his mum always did. The wrapping was silver and blue, contrasting sharply with the fabric of whatever Harry’d gotten him, which was a deep red.

Louis tugged on it, pulling it out of the paper, which Harry caught as it fell. Louis examined the sweater, drawn between his hands, and determined it was a jumper. He crinkled his nose and shot an inquisitive glance at Harry, then said, “Harry?”

Harry laughed and replied, “Yeah?”

“‘S this an old man jumper?” Louis asked, gesturing to it.

“I have a matching one!” Harry exclaimed, beaming.

“Babe,” Louis said, “we have _decades_ before we need to wear matching old man cardigans.”

“So why not start right now?” Harry shrugged with a smile as Louis rolled his eyes.

Louis laughed and said, “Thanks, Haz,” softly, before leaning in to peck Harry. Louis glanced over his shoulder at his flat and sighed a little. “Best be going back soon,” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes were shining and his nose was pink and for a second he looked like he was going to protest, but then he tightened his mouth into a line and nodded, saying, “S’pose so.” He looked to the ground at his right and added, “I miss you.”

“‘M right here,” Louis murmured, pushing into Harry’s space and wrapping his arms around Harry’s body.

“Yeah,” Harry said, but he sounded unconvinced. “Guess I just mean... you’re here but you’re not going to be in a minute and...” His voice trailed off, but Louis’ eyelashes fluttered shut and he nodded.

“I know,” he said in a strangled voice. “But we’ll see each other before  the new year, yeah? Can’t think of a better way to ring it in than with you.” He’d meant the sentiment to sound cheesy and trite, but it ended up coming out with more truth than not.

Harry crowded in still closer to him, one hand splayed out on Louis’ back and the other carding through his hair. “Yeah,” Harry said, sniffling a bit. “We’ll absolutely see each other.”

Louis wiped one of his eyes and laughed, pulling back slightly. “What a way to say goodbye,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood some. “‘S not like I won’t see you at work in a couple days, right?“

Harry closed his eyes and nodded, swallowing. “Right.”

“Plus I need a ride back, unless you’re planning on abandoning me on my birthday of all days,” Louis added, poking him in the chest gently and pulled him closer by his jumper. Smiling at Harry, Louis tilted his head and kissed him intently, sucking on Harry’s bottom lip for a few brief seconds before moving into an easy languid kiss. He pulled back slightly and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, breathing him in, and said, “Love you.”

Harry squeezed him and replied, “Love you more.”

Louis scoffed. “Always have to win, don’t you?”

“I didn’t make the rules, Lou.”

They did end up spending New Year’s Eve together, watching the ball drop on the TV the Styles family had in their living room. Anne’d bought crackers and party horns and as the countdown ticked to ‘one’, she and Gemma graciously turned aside as Harry and Louis shared a kiss tinged with champagne.

Louis found himself reflecting on how Harry’s family was so accepting and welcoming and wonderful quite often. Although he saw Harry fairly often, it was always a playing-it-by-ear sort of deal on his end. The fact that Mark had headed off to a work party on New Year’s, for example, was especially good luck, and though Louis strongly suspected it was just an excuse for him to get smashed without paying for any of it, he was still internally grateful to be able to call up Harry at the last minute and show up at the Styles’ flat without receiving any rude looks from Harry’s mum or sister. In fact, when he’d come in, Anne and Gemma had placed a party hat firmly on his head and pulled him into a tight hug, doting on him endlessly. Gemma’d prodded him and laughed at him for wearing the jumper Harry’d gotten him for his birthday, but Louis thought it’d been worth it for the way Harry’s eyes had lit up and how he’d been unable to suppress a huge smile, pulling Louis in for a deep snog when he picked him up.

January brought colder weather still and, aside for a meteor shower that Louis and Harry watched together snuggled under five blankets in Harry’s backyard, was entirely uneventful. Louis used to measure the passing of time by the state of the tree he could see outside his window and the bruises on his side (Mark’s beatings were worse during the school year, for obvious reasons), but it wasn’t long before he just started seeing time as days, weeks, months of Harry. This week was when he only saw Harry twice, that day was the first time Harry had showed Louis a song he’d written. It got so that if Louis was very, very quiet at night when he was lying in bed he could hear his heartbeat, and it sounded like _harry, harry, harry_. He’d forgone all manner of pretense about acting like he didn’t love the boy more than almost anything in the whole entire world so early on that he couldn’t remember what life felt like with it.

It was almost the end of January—the 29th—and Louis was all too aware of coming date.

“Harry’s birthday’s this Sunday,” he informed Lottie as he sat on the floor of her room building a Lego bridge.

“Have you got him anything?” she asked from her bed, fiddling with one of her dolls.

“I mean, I’ve got an idea.” Louis didn’t elaborate and Lottie nudged him with her foot.

“Well, what’s the idea, then?” she huffed. “Is it gonna be, like... roses and chocolates? One of my teachers got sent this big basket of flowers and candy from her boyfriend, and she let us have some of it.”

“Harry’s too good for that,” Louis said as he snapped two plastic bricks into place. “No offense to your teacher.”

“Then _what_?” she whined, and Louis smiled and reached over to mess up her hair.

“You’re never going to get anywhere in life by complaining, Lot,” he said faux-sternly.

She pouted, picking up a Lego and throwing it at his head. “Big dummy,” she murmured under her breath, but he knew his transgression would be forgiven momentarily.

“The biggest,” he agreed amiably.

“Are we ever gonna, like, _meet_ him?” she asked after a while, when Louis was building skyscrapers to go with his bridge.

“Probably not anytime soon,” he admitted, sighing. “It’s—it’s really complicated, you know, with Mark and... Well, yeah, that’s basically it. He makes it really complicated.”

“But I’m not Mark,” Lottie said, screwing her nose up. “D’you not want him to meet me? Or mum?”

“Just let me handle my relationship, yeah?” Louis snapped, looking up at her. “I know you’re trying to help, Lottie, but it’s a lot more... tangled than you think, alright? There’s a lot more at stake here.”

Lottie was tough at school and around the rest of the family, but she had never hidden herself from Louis. Tears welled up in her big blue eyes, and Louis sighed, instantly feeling the familiar, sharp pain of guilt. “I _am_ trying to help,” she sniffled. “I just want you to be happy, Lou.”

He cursed himself for forgetting how young she was. Too often he’d mistake Lottie for an impartial confidante and not a little girl who’d dealt with too much already. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, then reached forward and took her hand. He looked at her and, forehead wrinkling, said, “‘M sorry, Lot. Just been a little stressed lately, but that’s no excuse.”

She tilted her chin up and, taking little shaky breaths, nodded. He combed his hands through her hair for a little bit while Lottie wiped away her tears, and then she repeated, “Just want you to be happy.”

She bit her lip and exhaled and Louis sighed again, wishing he could undo the past few minutes. “Hey,” he said. “Love you, Lottie.” She smiled tightly and glanced away from him. “I’m sure I can arrange to get you to meet Harry, if you really want.”

Lottie averted his eyes, kicking her feet as she sat on the edge of the bed, and said, "'S that a promise?"

Louis smirked and replied, "Suppose so, yes."

“Good,” she said, sitting back and picking her doll up again. “Don’t break it.”

“When have I ever broken a promise to you?” Louis asked as he rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back.

“Oh, don’t start, Louis,” she groaned. “You still haven’t taken me to that science museum I wanted to go to—”

“No one in their right mind would want to learn about science outside of _school_ , Lottie,” he reasoned. “I’m saving you from yourself with that one.”

She stuck her tongue out and said, “Whatever. You still promised.”

Louis rolled his eyes and replied, “Do you have written documentation?”

Lottie’s eyes narrowed and she muttered, “For god’s sake, Louis, don’t be difficult.”

He reached over and ruffled her hair. “‘S what I do best, though, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Lottie said, but she was smiling. He knew she didn’t have it in her to be angry at anyone for an extended amount of time; it just wasn’t in her nature.

He pushed against her with his arm lightly and grinned. “Can’t have that, can we?”

She shoved him and laughed and Lottie put her doll on top of Louis’ now-castle and they played together, with Louis assuring Lottie that he’d keep his promise this time. The weekend was fast-approaching, though, and Louis was hyper-aware that he had nothing in the material way to give Harry. Not that he thought Harry’d mind much—Harry wasn’t particularly wanting for anything and wasn’t needy, really.

When the day came, he knocked on the door and was greeted by a beaming Harry, who was inexplicably wearing a tiara. Louis barked out a laugh and pulled Harry close to him and swayed with him on the spot, kissing him softly.

“Happy birthday,” Louis murmured, kissing Harry’s left dimple.

“It is now,” Harry replied amiably and Louis scoffed, shoving him a little.

“Always so cheesy,” he teased.

“I try,” Harry said.

Louis hummed and peered around him, asking, “So, where’re your mum and Gemma?”

“Out shopping for the weekend,” Harry said. “They left me 60 quid and the house all by myself.”

“Oh,” Louis managed to get out, a little distracted by the devilish grin playing at Harry’s lips. “All by yourself?”

“Mmhmm,” Harry nodded, biting his lip a bit.

“And 60 quid!” Louis exclaimed, ducking under Harry’s arm and into the house. “That’s, like, four pizzas.”

“What kind of expensive-ass pizza are you eating?” Harry asked, shutting the door.  

“Yours, hopefully,” Louis said, smiling wide. “That’s actually,” he continued, following Harry up the stairs, “the only reason I’m here at all.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he came to a halt, stopping Louis with an arm. “I knew it!” he shouted.

“It’s true,” Louis said in an old Hollywood accent, grabbing Harry and pulling him close. “I never loved you. I only wanted you for your pizza!”

“My fragile heart is breaking,” Harry said with a voice that didn’t match his words. His lips caught Louis’ neck and even if Louis couldn’t see his face, he could feel the smile against his skin.

“Happy birthday,” he said again, hoarse.

“Happy un-birthday,” Harry replied, muffled against Louis’ collarbone. The tiara was askew as they pulled apart, and Louis fussed a bit as he straightened it on Harry’s curls.

Louis pressed forward, tilting his head to align their lips, and easily wrapped his arms around Harry. Smiling against Harry’s lips, Louis pulled him closer and bit his bottom lip gently. “So,” Louis said, moving back slightly. “I hope you’re not expecting some sort of present or anything. Because you’re plum out of luck there, mister.”

Harry pulled back, his lips pursed in a pout that didn’t last five seconds before he was laughing loudly. “You’re a star, Louis Tomlinson.”

Ducking his head and laughing, Louis shifted forward and crowded into Harry’s space, slotting their mouths together again. Harry groaned into it and pulled Louis still closer by the fabric at his hips. Louis trailed kisses along Harry’s jaw and sucked lightly on his neck, biting the juncture between his shoulder. Shivering a little, Harry carded his fingers through Louis’ hair and murmured, “Love you,” into his ear.

Louis hummed and pulled back, blinking at Harry. “I love you, too.”

Harry beamed, reaching forward to squeeze his hand. “So what are we gonna do for my birthday?”

“Well,” Louis started, “I just got season three of _The West Wing_ on DVD, so I think we’ve got a full night of debauchery ahead of us, my friend.”

“You crazy fool,” Harry laughed, his eyes bright.

Louis shrugged and smirked, taking in how the green in Harry’s eyes shone just a bit brighter whenever he was amused. “Was thinking we could,” Louis said, “maybe try cooking something beforehand?” He glanced at the ground and added, “You’d get to choose, of course, and I’d try my best to do most of the work, but I don’t trust myself to cook an actual meal on my own.”

Harry chuckled and kicked Louis’ feet lightly, replying, “‘S a good thing I love to cook, then, innit?”

“So domestic,” Louis said contentedly. “Thank god.” Harry bit his lip and smiled, intertwining one of his hands with Louis’. Louis gazed at their interlocked hands and blushed a little, then he said, “Figure you know a grocery store in these parts.”

“You figure right,” Harry said, ducking his head a fraction and looking up at Louis through his eyelashes.

Louis felt the breath catch in his throat and choked out, “Alright! So, d’you want to go there now?”

“Sure,” Harry said as he pecked Louis’ cheek. “Lemme go get my coat and the money, 'kay?”

“Take your time, love,” Louis said, unable to keep the preternatural fondness that Harry inspired in him out of his voice as he watched Harry bound up the stairs.

He’d been over to Harry’s loads of times, but they’d never actually been there without at least Anne or Gemma milling about and popping in at convenient times, like when Louis’ hand was up Harry’s shirt and his lips were on Harry’s neck. He could feel his neck reddening at the memory, so he cleared his throat and took to studying the framed pictures on the walls that he’d never gotten a chance to look at.

Gemma leaning on Anne, her head on their shoulder as they laughed at something. Gemma and Harry when they were children at Easter. Louis laughed as he took in Harry proudly holding out his basket full of eggs and beaming—the same smile that he’d worn the day they met and every day since. He continued down the line to look at Harry’s and Gemma’s primary school pictures and a family picture that Louis could tell was folded back and adjusted so that Harry’s father Robin wasn’t in the frame.

Louis’ house had two or three pictures of the girls and Louis in the living room—Louis was sure it was Mark trying to convince the occasional outsider “Look! We’re a normal family just like everybody else!”—but other than that it was fairly threadbare except for some decorations his mum’d picked up at this antique sale or that.

Louis shook his head to clear away those thoughts and refocused his eyes on Harry's pictures, thinking about how much Harry'd changed since childhood, how he was still recognizable but so different, how he'd change so much within the next few years but that some parts of him would probably always be there—that some parts of him had to be there for the world to make sense.

Louis’d worked it all out in his mind, and time after time it came down to this: nothing worked without Harry. That the universe hadn't been a chaotic void before he had been born would always confuse Louis, but he was here now, in Louis’ life, and that was quite literally all that mattered.

“Alright!” Harry shouted from the top of the stairs. “Let’s do this!”

Louis looked up to see Harry backing up and running before jumping over the six steps, barely managing to get his hands out to stop him from running into the front door. Louis’ heart seized up for a second, but Harry was okay and Louis let out a laugh half from relief and half from the sight of Harry nearly stumbling into the door.

“What a way to die,” Louis mused. “Best not be doing that on your birthday. Any other day’s fine.”

Harry laughed. “Try not to,” he said, holding up his crossed fingers. “Don’t want to get you implicated or anything.”

Louis scoffed and replied, “Plus, you’d be depriving me of your company. I’d die of heartbreak. I think that could be billed as a murder-suicide deal.”

Grinning, Harry asked, “Don’t the murders usually come first?”

“Thought we were modern!” Louis announced, voice rising.

“Oh, but we are, babe,” Harry agreed. “After all, we’re about to go to the shop and cook a meal together and watch _The West Wing_. Doesn’t get more modern than that.”

“Do I detect sarcasm?” Louis asked, biting down a smile.

Harry did a once-over of Louis and responded, “Never.”

“Good,” Louis said. “Mockery doesn’t become you, Haz.”

Harry barked out a laugh and threw an arm over Louis’ shoulder, pulling him in tighter, and smiled, his bottom lip slightly tucked under his teeth. “Shall we?”

Heat pooled in Louis’ stomach and he pulled his eyes away from Harry’s mouth to look him in the eyes. “Definitely,” he said.

Harry flushed and smiled, eyes crinkling, and pulled the door open. “Gemma kindly left her car and keys and everything,” he informed Louis.

“Bless her,” he said fondly, linking their pinkies together as they left.

It was a short drive to the grocery store, but Louis still picked out a CD for the duration. He’d ridden in the car with Harry so often that he’d started to memorize the tracklists, even on the unlabeled discs. Gemma had apparently known Harry was driving her car since before Harry and Louis’ first date but just liked to see Harry sneak around. (The more time Louis spent around Gemma, the more he appreciated her.)

“I know this is your birthday,” Louis said over a song by The Who, “but I have one stipulation about dinner.”

“Is it that I have to cook all of it? Because that was gonna happen anyway, babe,” Harry said, smiling a little as he drove.

“ _No_ ,” Louis asserted stubbornly—his below-par cooking skills were a bit of a sore subject for him and Harry enjoyed teasing him about it. “It’s a rule that we can’t have any pasta.”

“But—” Harry started, but Louis swung his arm over and clapped a hand over his mouth.

“You’re always making pasta, Harry,” he said, his voice faux-stern. “Today’s your day. You need something special, like lobster or... I don’t know. Roasted duck.”

“Duck?” Harry muffled from underneath Louis’ fingers.

Louis nodded. “If that’s what you want, then we’ll have it.”

“What if I wanted pasta?” Harry asked, pouting.

Louis fixed him with a look, narrowing his eyes, and replied, “ _No_.”

Harry looked down sadly, before bursting out laughing, and said, “Fine.” He looked at Louis and continued, “So, anything I want?” and winked.

Sputtering, Louis replied, “Within reason.” He coughed and added, under his breath, “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything,” Harry said, laughing.

“You implied, that’s just as well,” Louis said, rolling his eyes.

Harry looked over slowly, and his smile deepened as he flicked his eyes over Louis. Louis lifted his eyebrows inquisitively and Harry just shrugged and shook his head. He turned back to the road and pulled off in front of a small grocery store. “Well,” he said, “‘re you ready to pick your poison?”

Louis scoffed. “Who said anything about poisoning?” he asked, trying to sound indignant, but he ended up squealing as Harry leaned over and pressed a kiss to his nose, then to his mouth. Louis pushed down the heels of his hands and pushed into it more, tilting his head and humming happily.

“Harry,” he said, against Harry’s lips, “‘ve gotta get ingredients.”

Smirking, Harry slotted their lips together tightly and twisted his fingers in Louis’ hair. “Yeah, alright,” he said, pulling back from a breathless and flushed Louis. “Got cooking to do!”

Louis blinked and tightened his mouth into a line, murmuring grumpily, “Downright treasonous, honestly.”

Harry laughed and pulled his door open, rushing around to the other side to let Louis out. He took hold of Louis’ hand and twirled him into a quick embrace, pecking his lips, and started off to the store entrance.

The fluorescent lights were a bit harsh, and Louis pulled away from Harry to get a cart for them, taking in the setup of the store as he ambled over to where Harry was examining nutmeg. Louis looked intently at the little container in Harry’s hand and asked, “Nutmeg?”

“Guess I’m just wondering what the difference is between these two... brands,” Harry said, getting distracted when he glanced up to look at Louis.

Louis smiled easily at him, eyes glinting with fondness, and replied, “Packaging, probably,” prompting Harry to bump into him with his left arm. Louis laughed and knocked him back with his hip and said, “So, any ideas?”

Harry bit down on his lip and furrowed his brow, concentrating. “I mean... I like salmon, I guess.”

“You guess?” Louis scoffed. “This is your _birthday dinner_ , Harold. You can’t just leave these things up to fancy guesswork. Do you want salmon or don’t you?”

“Lots of pressure here,” Harry said, raising his hands in submission. “You’re kind of scaring me, Lou.”

“Dinner’s serious stuff, Haz,” Louis tried to say as soberly as possible. Harry narrowed his eyes, and Louis let out the snort he’d been holding in. “No, if you want it, we’ll have it. I just want this to be perfect for you.”

“Aw, Louis,” Harry cooed, pulling Louis in to place a kiss on his forehead. “You’re too good to me, honestly.”

“Yeah, well.” Louis straightened Harry’s tiara proudly. “You deserve it, you little princess.”

Harry leaned into the touch and, lashes fluttering, smiled at Louis. Louis’ breath caught and he reflected on how truly incredible it was that even little buried looks like those made him feel the prophesied butterflies in his stomach. If there came a time that Harry _stopped_ making his pulse race, Louis’d consider checking into a mental ward.

Harry smacked his lips and said, “Hey, Louis?”

Louis re-concentrated on the task at hand and responded, “Yeah, Haz?”

“Think I know what I want,” Harry said, ducking his head a little and mussing his hair, careful to avoid the crown.

Louis beamed at Harry and bounced forward on his heels and asked, “So, what’s the meal of choice going to be?”

“I want breakfast,” Harry said simply.

Louis scrunched up his face and furrowed his brow. “Any... specific kind of breakfast, or just... an array?” he asked.

“You know,” Harry replied, nudging Louis gently. “Pancakes, eggs, bacon. Toast. Whatever you do best, really. ‘M just in a mood for breakfast for dinner.”

Louis gaped. “You’re so fucking cute, Hazza. Jesus Christ.”

“What’d I do?” Harry asked, but Louis just smiled wider and pinched his cheek lightly. Harry frowned for all of a second before he caught Louis’ eyes and allowed a wide, stretching grin to fall into place. Throwing his hands up, he exclaimed, “I don’t understaaaand!”

Louis laughed and poked Harry’s side, saying, “Come on, now. Let’s go pick out some pancake mixes.” Harry raised an eyebrow at that and breathed out a laugh, so Louis continued, “Well, it’s not like I’m going to pretend to know how to make pancakes from scratch. Does _anyone_ know how to do that?”

“Don’t know,” said Harry, looking concerned. “Never thought about it, I suppose.”

Louis ruffled his hair and said, “Thought you were a master chef!”

Harry stuck out his tongue and said, “Pancakes weren’t on the menu.”

“Well, they are today,” Louis replied. “And,” he started, “if you’re lucky—if you want, I mean—we can put things in ‘em.”

“Well, I do love things,” Harry said, teasing.

Louis pursed his lips and said, “I know you think you’re being sarcastic, babe, but that statement rings pretty true.”

Harry seemed to contemplate that for a minute, and shrugged, saying, “‘M thinking blueberries.”

“A fine choice,” Louis responded, nodding. “I salute your valor.”

Cheeks dimpling, Harry smiled one of his huge, lopsided smiles, and Louis forced himself not to let out a withering sigh and collapse into himself with how much he loved Harry. Instead, he flung an arm over Harry’s shoulder and pulled him in tight—to anyone outside of them it’d just look like two close friends—but as they turned the corner of an aisle, Louis kissed Harry’s cheek and said, “You’re wonderful.”

“Still don’t know what I did,” Harry muttered, but happily. Louis just smiled wider.

They gathered up the pancake mix and the blueberries, and Louis insisted they get some sour gummy worms to put in as well, saying, "Well, we've gotta try it, don't you think?" to which Harry could only laugh and consent.

Harry had eggs at home, and bread, so the only things they had when checking out were the mix, some bacon, and the supplements, and, though the cashier gave them an odd look, Louis couldn't help but feel that he was making a good decision. He shoved away Harry's hand when Harry tried to help pay and said, "Not this time, Haz. 'S your birthday and I _do_ have a job, I'll have you know."

Harry hummed and nuzzled Louis’ neck, saying, “Do know. You’re the breadwinner now.” He smiled and amended, “Pancake-winner.”

Louis swatted his arm, but it was a losing battle to try and fight off his own laughter.

Having paid, Louis linked his arm with Harry’s and supported the grocery bag on his free hip. Reaching the car, Louis was actually incredibly grateful to have Harry open the door just that once and beamed at him, before pulling him in and softly pressing their lips together for a few moments. Sometimes Louis pulled back from Harry a second too early, cutting things off too soon, specifically so that he could get a better view of Harry’s expression as it shifted in the short time before he regained his full awareness. Louis' heart warmed looking at Harry; this time Harry looked perplexed and amused and, more than anything, in love.

It made Louis' pulse race and he tried to push his feelings back down, saying, "So, Haz, are you excited for your birthday breakfast?"

Harry grinned and replied, “I’ve already had breakfast. This is dinner."

Louis gave him an appreciative glance and said, "So it is."

In a few quick minutes, they were back at Harry's, up the stairs and into the house. Making their way to the kitchen, Louis took the ingredients directly into his arms and, reaching the counters, put them down. He tore the bag of gummy worms open and held one over Harry's head. "In ancient Mayan culture,” he said, his lip quirked up, “they used these instead of mistletoe to kiss.”

Harry rose an eyebrow, smirking. “Didn’t learn about that one in history.”

“Yeah, well, white people. Can’t trust ‘em.” Louis shrugged before popping the candy into his mouth and pulling Harry in for a deep kiss.

Harry leaned back after a while and murmured, “You taste like sugar.”

Louis smiled down and licked his lips and said, "You too." Harry inclined his face, pursing his lips, and Louis closed his eyes and leaned forward expectantly, only to meet the breath of Harry’s laughter on his face.

“Gotcha,” Harry said gleefully, skirting around him to the ingredients. “Pancake time!”

Louis stewed, but only momentarily, bouncing to lean over Harry’s shoulder. “What’s the box say, boss?”

“Says we need some water,” Harry deadpanned. “Don’t know if this recipe is possible, honestly.”

“Trying times,” Louis murmured, reaching past Harry to grab a measuring cup. “Tap water’s okay, yeah? We don’t need to get prissy about our water, right? Or, like, it’s not poisoned or anything?”

“Should be fine,” Harry said, smiling. “Any poison’ll boil off when we cook ‘em anyway.”

Louis launched himself at Harry, nipping at his neck and saying, “Better have done.”

Harry laughed and pushed Louis off half-heartedly and whined, “ _Louis_! I’ve got some very important measuring to do!” Louis repositioned himself and sucked at Harry’s neck with more force, and Harry added a little breathlessly, “You’re hurting the cause!”

But he wasn’t so much fighting back anymore, so Louis moved up and found Harry’s lips with his own, then pulled back, arms crossed, and said, “No time for your hormones, Harry. It’s time to get down to business,” as seriously as he could.

Harry said nothing, just rolled his eyes and returned to the counter, turning the tap on as he squinted to read the rest of the instructions on the box. Louis loved when he got like this, all concentrating and serious. Sometimes when they were actually trying to get studying done, Louis would just sit and watch Harry read his textbooks. (Louis sometimes felt it was his mission to break that practiced concentration and, more often than not, they just ended up snogging on the couch or the bed or the floor or the breakfast table that one time.)

“Hand me the blueberries,” Harry said without turning around, holding his hand out behind him, and Louis smiled a little as he pulled the carton out of one of the grocery bags.

“Here you go.” Louis handed them to Harry. “Anything else you need?”

“Just stand there and look pretty,” Harry said, smiling big over his shoulder at him.

Louis didn’t have time for his integrity to be wounded. “Well, I _am_ very pretty.”

“Too right you are.”

Harry ended up integrating Louis’ help more and more into the baking, having him spray the griddle and measure out the blueberries. Louis appreciated Harry including him more than he could probably say, especially because he knew his kitchen track record was probably worse than a blind fourteen-year-old dog’s.

He was laughing at a joke Harry made while holding a cup of batter, when some of it spilled over the side and onto the floor to join some of the spilled powder and squished blueberries that had already been sacrificed to the linoleum gods.

“You know, we could probably make pancakes just from the shit on the floor,” Louis mused, bending down to pick up a wounded blueberry. He spread the juice between his fingers and dragged an index finger against Harry’s cheek, leaving behind a purple streak. Harry just stood there, smiling, letting him. “Saving it for later,” Louis said, raising his eyebrows suggestively, even though he was fairly certain Harry’d gotten the gist.

“Dessert, innit?” Harry said, and Louis laughed loudly.

Louis insisted on being in charge of telling when the pancakes were ready to be flipped, when they were ready to be served, and he told Harry that eating as they went was probably the only way to live—otherwise, the pancakes’d get cold. Because of this, of course, there was some amount of running to and from the stove in order to keep pancakes from burning, and a fair portion of the batter ended up in Louis’ hair and on his face. Harry took that as an invitation and licked part off, scooping another bit off with his finger and sucking it off, which led to Louis’ neck burning and his brain shutting off for a few seconds there as he moved into Harry’s space and roughly snogged him against the counter. That batch of pancakes burned.

Looking around at the mess everywhere, Louis felt a familiar pull at his stomach and he smiled hugely at Harry and held them both together there, in the midst of everything, and breathed him in. “Can’t wait ‘til we have a flat of our own,” Louis whispered, before realizing he’d said it out loud.

He got to worry for approximately 0.3 seconds before Harry chimed in, “Can we have a cat?”

Louis blinked and laughed, nodding as he buried his head in Harry’s shoulder. “Yes, we can have a cat,” he said. “It’ll be like our child. What should we name it?”

Harry twisted his mouth and furrowed his brow and said, “Hairy.”

Louis sputtered and replied, “‘S a bit much, don’t you think?”

“But it will be!” Harry said emphatically.

“Hm?”

“It will be hairy,” Harry said, pausing before adding, “Unless it’s hairless.”

Louis’ nose scrunched up and he laughed in shallow little laughs, pulling Harry in still closer and kissing him on the cheek. “I’m in love with you,” he said.

“I like big fluffy fat cats,” Harry mused, staring off into the distance (as he was sometimes wont to do). “We had a grey one once. Name was Kitty.”

“Original,” Louis commented, but he could never get enough of learning about Harry, whether small or large details. “Was she nice?”

“He,” Harry smirked, eyes far away with memory. “We thought he was a girl when we found him but then we took him to the vet and it turned out he was a boy. I called him a she ‘til he died, though.”

Louis cocked his head a bit. “This is all rather confusing.”

“Let it sink in,” Harry said soothingly, biting back a smile.

They ended up making three batches of pancakes (“Enough to last me at least half a day,” Harry said) and settled into the big, worn leather couch in the living room with plates stacked high as they popped in disc one of _The West Wing_.

Harry pulled a blanket off the arm of the couch and spread it over the two of them, focusing his attention on the screen where the menu was repeating for the fourth time. Louis took a few seconds to give Harry a once-over, smiling to himself, and pressed play for the first episode. Harry crowded in closer to him and pulled them together with an arm around Louis. Leaning into the touch, Louis tilted his head to give himself better access to Harry and maybe sort of missed the opening sequence of the episode because he was too busy leaving kisses over Harry’s collarbones and neck and tracing the length of Harry’s torso with a few of his fingers. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a shaky breath. When he opened his eyes again, they were heavy-lidded and dark, and Louis shifted a little in order to kiss Harry full-on, holding his head in place. Louis moved one of his legs over Harry, well straddling him then, and arched his back as they moved together, a mess of lips and tongues and places that Louis knew would have marks in the morning. Harry breathed shallowly and pulled Louis tighter and Louis felt like the little amount of space between their two bodies was suddenly too much.

He slid a hand under Harry’s shirt, looking up at him as he kissed the skin that showed there. Harry’s hips bucked and Louis pressed down even harder with his lips, eliciting a moan.

They’d been there before—Harry was entirely virginal when they’d started dating, but he was also a fast learner. He’d told Louis about a month in that he wanted to be with Louis— _be_ with him—but he wasn't ready for that yet, and Louis understood. So they went slow. He was okay with that. After all, Louis was in no rush. There was plenty of time for them—he was sure of it—and it wasn’t like he’d gone too far himself, with his own dating record of one-offs and then no two-days-later calls.

Still, there were times like this when Harry got pliant and whined out needy sounds and Louis could feel things getting to be out of his control, could barely get himself to stave off. In the days leading up to Harry’s birthday, he’d even begun to wonder if maybe it’d been long enough to take that next step, if Harry was ready for that.

Louis shifted his body and returned to sucking bruises into Harry’s neck and rutted against him, slowly, with intention. He looked at Harry through his eyelashes and screwed his face up a little, forming a silent question with his lips parted and breathing labored.

Harry searched his eyes and said, breathy, “Yeah.”

Louis moved forward, kissing Harry urgently, and asked, this time aloud, “Are you sure?”

Smirking just barely, Harry nodded and said, “Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” and, as if to prove to Louis that he was serious, pulled him back into a deep kiss and pushed his hips up against Louis’.

The contact surged through Louis and he inhaled sharply, fumbling with his hands to pull Harry closer, to press against him. He looked back down at Harry, who nodded again, and pushed the heel of his hand tentatively against the front of Harry’s trousers, then, deciding it was a better thing done if those weren’t in the way, fidgeted with the fly.

Harry laughed a little, really more like air pushing out of his lungs, and stilled Louis’ hands, raising them above his head and leaning forward to snog him fervently, then undid the zipper.

“Wait, wait,” Louis whispered against Harry’s lips. “Let’s... bedroom, yeah?” His heart was audibly drumming in his chest and his breath was coming raggedly, but he could think straight enough to know that he didn’t want their first time to be on a couch while Aaron Sorkin dialogue shot back and forth in the background.

(Second time, maybe.)

Harry nodded, knitting his brow. “Yeah, no, you’re right.” He gathered up the blanket and put it aside, re-buttoning his jeans, and quickly moved back to kiss Louis, whispering to him, “Let’s go, yeah?”

Louis sighed and lifted himself off of Harry, extending a hand to him. “Let’s go,” he echoed. Harry grabbed Louis’ hand, weaving their fingers together. They walked like that, hand in hand, up to Harry’s room, kissing along the way. If Harry ended up pressed against the east wall at one point, Louis didn’t dwell on it, just kept one hand locked in Harry’s and a destination in mind.

They reached Harry’s room and if Louis wasn’t so focused on sucking color into Harry’s neck, he’d have laughed at the way Harry grasped for the doorknob behind him to no avail. “Here,” he whispered, turning it and pushing the door open.

“Don’t have to be so quiet, you know,” Harry said, though he was muttering. “We’re all alone.”

Louis didn’t respond, just shoved their bodies up against the wall and their mouths together. Harry could be so infuriatingly cautious sometimes (though Louis couldn’t even really get mad at him for that), so when he took control or said things like that, Louis’ self-control dropped to about zero.  A groan escaped his lips and he rolled his hips against Harry’s, fisting Harry’s shirt and pulling him in closer. A smile played at Harry’s mouth and he let out a shaky breath, running his hand lightly down Louis’ chest and pushing it up under Louis’ shirt. He nipped at Louis’ ear and neck and whispered, “So much.”

Louis didn’t ask what he meant, just pushed his body firmer against Harry’s, one hand in his hair and the other working its way down the front of Harry’s trousers. Harry kissed him with intent—sucking on Louis’ lips and pulling away to ghost his lips over Louis’ jaw and eyelids. Louis’ hands stilled and he shuddered, then he moved back to the task of getting Harry’s jeans down and, pressing a hand against Harry’s chest, bit his neck. Harry pushed back against him, bucking his hips a little, and Louis could feel him already hard.

“C’mon,” Louis said, a bit roughly, trying to unbutton Harry’s jean button with one hand and struggling a bit. Harry nudged him away gently and undid them himself, never once looking away from Louis as he shoved them down so they pooled around his ankles. Harry sometimes complained about how skinny and pale he was, but Louis loved it, couldn’t get enough of how beautiful he was, so beautiful that sometimes he glowed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Louis said, smiling before he tilted down to kissed Harry, soft and sweetly.

Harry looked up at him, and even in the low candlelight Louis could see the green shine through his thick lashes. “Love you,” he murmured, ducking his head.

“I love you, too,” Louis said, grabbing his hand and tugging it a little. “Let’s go to bed.”

Gathering his fingers under the hem of Louis’ shirt, Harry nosed his neck. “Less clothes first,” he said, prompting a chuckle from Louis.

“So needy,” Louis faux-complained as he raised his arms over his head for Harry to pull the t-shirt off. He had no idea the act of removal could be so agonizingly slow—Harry’s fingers dragging lightly over his chest as he lifted the shirt, biting the corner of his lip in something of a smirk—it was enough for Louis to tackle him onto the mattress and take him then and there. But slow, he had to take it slow, they’d agreed.  Still, he led Harry to the bed and ended up leaning back on his forearms with Harry on top of him.

“You sure I need to take my trousers off?” he teased, and Harry growled, fumbling with the button on Louis’ Levi’s. Louis took a certain amount of pleasure in noting that Harry had almost as much trouble undressing him as he had had with Harry.

Finally they were in equal states of undress, and Louis felt it necessary to take a metaphorical step back for a moment to drink each other in before he took Harry completely apart. It wasn’t easy—every part of him was fighting against him on this, trying to get him to get his hands and lips on every inch of Harry that was exposed to him and some that weren’t—but Louis looked at Harry for a good few seconds, letting the lift and fall of his lungs get painted in some corner of his mind forever, hopefully. When Louis lifted his eyes, they caught on Harry’s and hung there. Harry was smiling a slight smile and looking at him with soft eyes and suddenly a great wave of possession overcame Louis. He wanted to mark Harry all over.

Louis smirked and said in a low voice, “Come over here.” Harry grinned and crawled even farther forward and Louis pulled him in closer, running his hands along Harry’s ribs and playing with the band of Harry’s underwear. He looked up at Harry from where he was biting his hip—Harry’s head was thrown back and his eyes were closed. Louis breathed against Harry’s stomach and gently pulled down the fabric of Harry’s underwear, cupping him as he did so. A quick intake of air and Harry was pushing against Louis’ hand, whining.

Louis smiled and bit his lip, leaning forward to crush his lips against Harry’s, and he swallowed Harry’s moan as he jerked him slowly, then applied some force to the head. Harry shuddered against Louis and, grasping at the hair at the back of his neck, pulled him closer and shoved a hasty hand down Louis’ underwear and took hold of his cock. With the heat of Harry pressed against him and the double exposure of Harry rubbing him and him rubbing Harry, it was almost too much for Louis. He panted against Harry’s neck and half-heartedly kicked Harry’s comforter away—there was too much heat already and it was too rough in contrast to Harry. Louis sucked at Harry’s neck, still working him with his hand, and Harry adjusted to cup Louis’ balls with his free hand, still steadily jerking him. Louis arched his back and lowered his head and bit against Harry’s torso, then moved still lower and took him into his mouth, blocking Harry from working him for the moment, which was completely worth it for the gasp Harry let out and the way he fell back onto his forearms, mouth slack and eyes fluttering closed.

Louis held onto Harry’s hips and swiped his tongue along Harry’s length, digging his nails lightly into Harry’s sides. Harry bucked his hips up and Louis took that as an invitation to reapply his whole mouth to the cause.

“Lou,” Harry panted. “Lou, _fuck_ , Lou.”

Louis flicked his eyes up, struck once more by the sight of Harry with his neck completely exposed, hair sticking to his forehead. Louis hollowed his cheeks and smiled the tiniest fraction when Harry’s latest “Lou” was cut off by a groan.

“Lou,” Harry said again, wiping his forehead for a second, eyes still screwed shut. “Lou, I don’t know how long—”

This was also cut off by a high-pitched whine as Louis pulled his mouth off Harry’s cock and blew air on it. Harry’s dick twitched in response and Louis smirked and licked the slit,  moving forward to take him in his mouth.  Through half-open eyes, Harry watched him and breathed in shallow breathes, lifting his hips slightly.

Then Louis pressed a tentative finger against Harry’s entrance and Harry was gone, coming into Louis’ mouth and collapsing, still panting. Although Louis’d never been to this point before, he’d taken enough health classes in his life to know what to do and he popped his mouth off Harry and swallowed. Louis looked at Harry, lightly spotted from all of his lovebites and completely wrecked, and felt inordinately proud.

After a few minutes, Harry lifted himself up with a hunger in his eyes and, pulling Louis towards him, sucked on Louis’ bottom lip and kissed him roughly. Harry moved a hand to Louis’ cock and worked him back to full hardness again. Louis tried to laugh, but it came out like a rush of air, and he fell forward a little, anchoring himself on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry whispered into his ear, saying, “You’re so fucking hot, Louis. You’re beautiful.” He bent down and ghosted his lips over the bruises on Louis’s side that weren’t bitten or sucked but beaten into him. It had been a light week at home in terms of abuse, but the evidence was still there, fading from a mottled yellow into the tan of his skin. He felt Harry’s lips softly press against them, each of them sparking as he traveled up and down Louis’ chest. Pulling up from the bruises, Harry returned his grasp to Louis’ cock and resumed working it with slow turns of his wrist.

“Want you so bad,” he murmured with a voice that was unbearably rough. “I love you so much. I want you forever.”

Louis’ whole body shuddered at the words and he arched into Harry’s hand, his teeth biting down on Harry’s shoulder. Somewhere through the numbing yet heightening haze of lust, he thought he tasted blood. He didn’t have long to relish the ragged gasps this brought from Harry—his own breathing was labored and a growl escaped his throat as Harry pumped him and said, “C’mon, Lou, c’mon.”

Louis screwed his eyes closed and grabbed Harry’s body closer to his own, feeling the stickiness of Harry’s warm body. Louis pushed him back, back until he fell, and straddled him, moving in time with Harry’s hand on Louis’ cock. Louis groaned and pushed his hair back with a hand and said, “Harry, Harry. Harry. _God_.” He bent down and closed the space between them and, holding either side of Harry’s face, slotted their lips together.

Louis could feel Harry hardening a little under him and the press of his own cock against Harry’s stomach with Harry’s hand firmly working him was too much. Louis’ mind went blank and he arched his back and came, leaving a mess on Harry’s torso. Louis collapsed onto Harry, then, and shut his eyes, panting. His whole body was throbbing and his skin stuck against Harry’s, heated and lightly covered in sweat. Harry wrapped one of his arms around Louis, the other one playing with his hair, and Louis tilted his head and looked at Harry, whose face was flushed and eyes were glinting. Harry cocked a grin and said, “So good,” sleepily.

Louis smiled back at him and, nose crinkling a little, replied, “Messy though.”

“Good kind,” Harry murmured happily, rubbing a hand down Louis’ back.

They stayed put for a little while, breathing in time, but eventually the stickiness and stillness combined made them both too itchy and anxious and Harry led Louis by the hand to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower, and said, “For industrial purposes, we should probably shower together.”

Louis lifted his eyebrows and smiled a little and said, “Don’t know if I have it in me to go again.”

Harry barked out a laugh and covered his mouth and replied, “No, I’m serious. We should shower together otherwise the water’ll go cold and it’ll be no good.”

Louis laughed, doubling over, and then, getting himself back together, moved into Harry’s space and nipped at one of the marks forming on Harry’s collarbone. Harry’s breathing hitched and his head fell to one side and he swallowed, saying, “Fucking hell, Louis.”

“Yeah?” Louis asked, his lips moving against Harry’s skin, and he felt it when Harry nodded.

“‘M gonna have bruises for days,” Harry said, laughing a little. “Gonna have to wear scarves or something,” he added, thoughtfully.

Louis laughed lightly and replied, “Good,” punctuating the sentiment with another nip at Harry’s skin, this time just below where his jaw connected to his ear.

Harry moaned and swayed his body forward, gently tilting Louis’ head until they were kissing softly, pressed against each other. They were both a little bit hard from the proximity, and Louis was turned on by the realization that Harry was right there with him, wanting this.

“C’mon, Haz,” Louis said, holding Harry steady. “Water’s probably good by now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling wide.

They stepped into the shower together, and mostly kept things hygiene-oriented, though there were more than a few times that someone’s hand strayed and lazily pumped the other’s cock. There was also an incident wherein Harry was shampooing Louis and Louis crowded into his space, snogging him, and Harry ended up with his back against the wall while shampoo fell into Louis’ eyes a little bit, but Harry’s jaw was slack and he was swaying a little and Louis counted it a win.

Once they’d (reluctantly) gotten into their boxers, Harry let Louis towel-dry his hair as he sat cross-legged on the ground, humming some Bob Dylan song or other. Louis loved him like this, how he was off-guard and soft-edged when they were together. He could sometimes forget Harry was so young (fifteen now, at least) but at those moments when his eyes shone and he swayed to the tune of the song in his head, Louis felt incredibly lucky that somehow some god had gotten it into their head that he could be trusted with something so breakable.

“Hey, Harry,” he said from behind the boy, and Harry’s wet curls bounced as he turned to look at Louis.

“Yeah?”

“I love you lots,” Louis said, rubbing a thumb over one of Harry’s eyebrows. “I love you more than anything in the whole world.”

Harry smiled a little. “Anything?” This was a game they had. “More than Jay-Z?”

This was not what Louis was expecting, and he snorted as he buried his head in the towel around Harry’s shoulders. “Jay is a married man, Haz,” he said.

“But you’re so much _prettier_ than Beyonce.” Harry was unable to keep the smirk off his lips.

“Yes,” Louis answered the question, rolling his eyes. “I love you more than Jay-Z.”

“Oh, well, then you’re on your own because I absolutely love him more.”

Louis responded by glaring and blowing a loud raspberry on the back of Harry’s neck in revenge. Harry squirmed and giggled and Louis laughed loudly, feeling vindicated. He was about to start mocking Harry for how quickly he’d jumped and moved out of the way, when Harry’s hands took hold of his face on either side and Harry snogged him messily, face upside down. Louis made a surprised noise and hummed and, pulling back, licked Harry on the nose for a second, appreciating the way Harry’s eyes crinkled and how his smile doubled in size.

“Like Spider-Man,” Harry said, beaming. “But less wet, I suppose.”

It took Louis about half a second to catch on to Harry’s meaning, but once he did, he tossed the towel hastily over Harry’s head and asked, “‘S that make me Mary Jane, then?”

Harry pushed the towel off his head and said, “If the shoe fits.”

“Suppose I can work with that,” Louis mused, “so long as you don’t have a breakdown and get all emo on me in the third movie.”

“Deal,” Harry agreed, twisting around and pecking Louis again, upright this time.

What was left of the day was measured out in lazy kisses and laying, bodies pressed up against each other and limbs intertwined, on the sofa, watching _The West Wing_ (from the beginning, as Harry insisted they “didn’t properly see a second of it”).

At one point, Louis very briefly fell asleep, nuzzling against Harry’s neck, and promptly denied anything beyond having closed his eyes for a second. Harry just breathed out a laugh and ruffled his hair a little and kissed him on the eye as he was wont to do on occasion.

Around ten at night, Louis felt himself succombing to sleep and murmured against Harry’s jaw that he had to be getting home. “Would you give me a ride?” he asked, pressing a kiss to Harry’s skin.

“‘F course,” Harry replied. He rubbed his forehead and scrunched up his nose and continued, “Are you—do you want to stay over? Mum and Gemma’ll probably be back soon, but I’m sure you could stay, if you wanted—I mean, can you?” He opened one of his eyes a little and peered at Louis.

“Can I stay over, you mean?” Louis momentarily entertained the idea. It would be nice to see Gemma and Anne again and to see Harry try to skirt around letting the bruises on his neck (and elsewhere) be seen by them and Louis was sure that Anne would give him warm blankets and soft pillows to use, even though he’d end up sneaking into Harry’s room the second she went to bed, but the truth was that Louis couldn’t imagine a world where he was able to stay over at Harry’s without consequences. If he’d planned ahead, he might’ve been able to manage to come up with some lie about how he needed to pull an all-nighter at a friend’s to get some project done in time, but even _that_ would probably have resulted in minor assault from Mark. As it was, though, it was already pretty late and he was due back, praying that today wasn’t the day Mark decided to fact check on whether he really was working at Disc N’ Dat.

Harry poked him in the side gently and lifted his eyebrows and Louis sighed. “No dice, Harold,” he said finally. “Would that I could.”

Harry swallowed, shook his head, and nodded, eyes looking a little watery. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Louis cooed. “C’mon, Harry, we’ll have plenty of time to sleep together. I promise.” He held his crossed fingers out to Harry and continued, “Might even get some rest.” He winked and Harry snorted and the world started spinning again.

“Well,” Harry started, shifting his body under the weight of Louis’. “Better get going then, shouldn’t we?”

Sighing, Louis sat up and scooted off of Harry. “Yeah, guess so.” He scrubbed his eyes. “Hate this part.”

“The leaving part?” Harry asked, and Louis nodded. “Me too.”

Honestly, all Louis wanted to do at that exact moment was stay wrapped up in Harry’s arms, feeling magnetized where their bodies met. He couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the rest of his night, the rest of his life, and if he felt a little corny at that recognition, he pushed away that feeling and let himself long for _this_. It was a little disconcerting, how easy it was to yearn for something he clearly already had, but Louis could never quite convince himself out of wanting more of Harry for himself. These feelings only intensified around their partings. He closed his eyes and inhaled and steeled himself. When he opened his eyes, though, Harry was there, smiling warmly, and Louis felt a little less weighed down, a little more whole.

He pressed a soft but insistent kiss to Harry’s lips, a _yes I’ll see you tomorrow_ , _yes I’m going to be okay_ , a _yes I love you_.

They got to Louis’ place with the usual conversation to keep their minds off of what could very well be waiting there. Although neither Harry nor Louis shied from discussing Louis’ homelife when it mattered, there was a silent agreement between them that it was just too much to think about when they were leaving each other, leaving their little bubble of love and understanding. Or, at the very least, Louis’d tried for a while to keep them away from talking about it after having seen Harry’s eyes fill with tears too many times, and Harry seemed to follow his lead.

So there they were, outside of Louis’ flat, and Harry was wearing his worried smile, trying to keep it even enough to not have to be acknowledged, and Louis was training his eyes on Harry so that he wouldn’t start thinking about anything beyond what was in front of him.

“So,” Harry said, holding the fabric by Louis’ hips, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” His eyes glittered a little in the streetlights and Louis nodded, swallowing.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Happy birthday, Hazza.”

Harry smiled sheepishly and pulled Louis in closer, gently pushing his fringe back and kissing him softly. Louis pushed into it, tangling his fingers in Harry’s curls. Both of them were a little shaken, but when they stepped apart, they were smiling at each other in understanding and their parting felt less permanent.

“See you tomorrow, Harry,” Louis murmured against his neck.

“Love you,” Harry said into Louis’ ear.

“Love you too,” Louis responded, tilting his head and connecting their lips together once more. “Best be going.”

“Yeah.” Harry blinked slowly and pressed his fingers to the corner of Louis’ jaw, smiling a little sadly at him, and continued, “See you in the morning, Lou.”

Louis closed his eyes and tightened his lips into a line and nodded shakily. “Yeah,” he agreed. “In between classes, mm?”

“And after school at the store,” Harry added, and, when Louis opened his eyes, he was smiling more fully. “Thanks for today,” Harry said. “Was great.”

“For me, too, believe it or not,” Louis agreed with a bit of a laugh. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a repeat sometime in the future. Are you planning on turning fifteen again soon?”

“I could work something out for you.” An obscene smirk was playing on Harry’s lips and Louis couldn’t help himself, catching their mouths together with a little more force than he had intended, but Harry responded in kind. Louis buried a hand in Harry’s curls and used the other to pull them together so that the smallest molecule couldn’t pass between them. Their tongues tangled, but it wasn’t playful, it was hungry, and Harry whined a little into Louis’ mouth. His hands fisted the back of Louis’ shirt, twisting and pressing into Louis’ lower back with just the slightest pressure.

Louis tilted his head away, breaking the kiss and breathing hard. “I’ve—I need to go inside now,” he said, a bit raggedly. “I love you, okay?”

Harry nodded as they took a half step apart, fingers lightly touching his bright red lips. “I know. I love you too.”

Turning to the house, Louis looked back over his shoulder at the boy in the streetlight one, two, three times. He gave Harry a small wave before he reached the door, and even from far away he could see the love in Harry’s eyes, the tiny smile playing at the corner of his already-swollen lips.

“Night, Haz,” Louis whispered, turning to open the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are SO SORRY for not updating for so long!! we're both really busy with school, but we know that's no excuse. thanks for your patience and we hope this chapter makes up for it. :)


	8. vii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry. OR: Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives.
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

_Sometimes_ , Louis thought, _you don’t know what you’re getting into until you’re already there._

He sat in his room, fiddling with the old guitar he bought off a family friend when he was eleven, and tried to make sense of the way his fingers slid over the strings and never quite made the sound he wanted.

It was eight o’clock on a Thursday night and the regular house noises sounded far off and a bit surreal and Louis periodically pressed his fingers to the bruises on his side—the fading ones that came from love, and the spiking, sharp ones that came from Mark.

Louis closed his eyes and exhaled, rubbing his face and pushing back his hair. Summer was getting closer—the sky was clearing every day and it was getting hotter—and he wasn’t 100% sure he’d make it to the next week.

More and more often, it seemed, Mark would come home from work with a look in his eyes and a certain forcefulness to his step that was more dangerous than when he would outright rage and smash glass against the walls. This was deeper—it was planning and uppercuts and something deep and unsettled that made him want to break Louis in every way possible. It was dull, hidden razor blades and fingernails digging into the soft bit of skin just below Louis’ armpit. Some days, Louis could manage to stay out of his path, could work some overtime and not be blamable for anything. Most days, though, he’d come home and Mark would be waiting, a sick insult on his lips—a new way of tearing him apart.

Between slurs about Louis’ sexuality and general references to how much of a “sissy” Louis was, Mark had taken to telling Louis exactly how unlovable he really was. “How old’s your boyfriend?” Mark’d sneer. “Wait until he realizes how fucked up you really are. Think he’ll stick around?”

Usually, Louis had no reason to take Mark’s words to heart, no reason to dwell on a drunkard’s pathetic attempts at mangling him. He’d just stare dully and ask, “What boyfriend?” because if he never admitted anything Mark couldn’t use it,  but lately—lately, Harry’d been a bit moody with him, and Louis never liked himself very much anyway, and it was all working together so that he thought that maybe, just maybe, Mark actually had it right all along. Louis got to thinking that maybe he did deserve all of this, that his inane sense that no one deserved to be assaulted the way he was held true for everyone except for himself.

He stopped fighting back. Not that he had exactly come out swinging before, but when he was caught under Mark’s palm or fist, he just stayed there, let it happen. He hadn’t felt this helpless since his mum was pregnant with the twins—when Mark was drinking every day and, because his twisted sense of valor still wouldn’t let him harm a pregnant woman, Louis got the brunt of it. He used to be defenseless; he didn’t care what happened to him. And then he—

_And then I met Harry_ , he thought, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall back against the wall. Normally this would be a comforting thought, but lately it made him ache with unease. Harry had been acting a lot differently, and Louis couldn’t piece together why that was. Nothing had changed, they’d been doing the same dance for quite some time. Work, school, Louis sneaking out. None of that had changed, and yet they hadn’t been fitting together quite how they had before—the way they were _supposed_ to.

It had been a few days before Louis really noticed. There were days when they were lying on Harry’s floor, splayed out against each other, talking about school and life and work and their plans for the future and Louis’d be joking and playing with Harry’s curly hair and Harry’d get really quiet and solemn looking and bat Louis’ hand away without any trace of laughter in his face at all.

Another time, they were making out on Harry’s mattress and Harry’s hand was pushing Louis’ shirt up and Louis whined and pushed his hips against Harry and Harry just sort of... stopped. His hand stilled and his brow wrinkled and he turned his face away and after that wouldn’t say a single thing to Louis about what the matter was.

Nothing had changed, and Louis was beginning to wonder if that was the problem. He was beginning to wonder if he was the problem.

He’d been content with the drives around Doncaster, telling Harry about every corner of his messed-up soul—about how he worried for his sisters and mum and himself and didn’t have any expectation of things changing, about how he sometimes felt like giving up completely, quitting everything. Louis was happy to listen to Harry talk about his little tiffs with Anne and Gemma and how his father still hadn’t called and how, more than almost anything, Harry wanted to sing for huge audiences and touch people’s hearts and make his mum proud.

Louis’d been happy.

Now, though, he looked back on those memories with a kind of nostalgia life had never afforded him—memories stained an eerie sepiatone.

He was trying not to be dramatic, even with himself, but the thought occurred to him more than once that maybe it had all been a fluke, that maybe Harry’d only been interested in him because that’s how Harry was and that, once he’d seen the majority of Louis, it had been too much and he’d decided he wanted out. Louis was trying to keep practical, knew that he’d survive and live to tell the tale, but it fucking hurt and he didn’t understand it.

And then, on top of everything, confrontation was out of the question. There was nothing to confront, so to speak. They’d never really _fought_ —never about anything important, anyway. They’d get into tiny disagreements over musical artists or the merits of dogs versus cats, but overall their relationship had been smooth sailing until recently. Louis didn’t want to risk bringing up Harry’s mood—he already felt like he was treading on eggshells, and wasn’t it fucked up that he felt the same way at home as he did around his boyfriend? Like any little thing could set off a screaming match, like at any moment everything could fall apart.

So he didn’t say anything. Some days were better than others, with Harry beaming and laughing at Louis’ jokes, kissing him on the cheek with such force that Louis was sure the bad mood had passed for good. Harry was fifteen, after all. He was allowed to be a bit shirty at times. But then the next day it would be back, sometimes even worse than before. One day, Louis texted Harry at school, asking if he wanted to meet up after at a coffee shop so Louis could study for an exam he had the next day. He received no reply all day, and when he finally caught Harry in the halls before school ended, Harry just shrugged and said he hadn’t received the message. Louis knew that he had, but said nothing of it, just pulled him in for a decidedly one-sided hug.

Still, whether Harry had fallen out of love with him or not, Louis wanted to have him in his life in some way. Beyond the strong feelings of love, need, want, and everything in between that Louis felt for Harry, there was the comfort—the immediate sort of recognition that he’d felt when he’d first looked into Harry’s eyes, or maybe even before that, when he’d heard his voice and shivered, when everything had first fallen into place. Beyond their relationship, there was always the feeling of home that came with Harry. For the sake of his own sanity, Louis wanted Harry to be with him in whatever way Harry could.

So Louis treated each day like none of what had come before it had happened—like none of Harry’s moodiness affected him. He put on a brave face and he soldiered on. Sometimes he almost convinced himself that if he showed Harry he still loved him that that would cancel out whatever was keeping Harry an arm’s length away. Sometimes Louis worried that by keeping up how he was he was only tending closer and closer to the eye of the storm, only making Harry want more distance.

Louis couldn’t navigate it and he didn’t want to. He wanted to undo everything and redo whatever had gotten them to this place. He wanted what he’d had and not what he sensed he was headed towards. He wanted Harry.

He pushed all this out of his mind one April afternoon as they lay on Harry’s bed watching _Titanic_ for what was probably the 700th time (Louis never minded; he loved watching Harry’s eyes mist over every viewing without fail). He tried to wrap his arm around Harry’s side, but Harry had stiffened up, so they ended up lying side-by-side with their arms barely even touching. Louis brushed it off. He did his usual murmur of approval at young Leo DiCaprio, and Harry didn’t so much as offer a courtesy smile. No problem, Louis thought. He’d probably just had a bad day.

When Kate Winslet told the officer that her name was Rose Dawson, Louis had his eyes trained on Harry’s, because that was always when he lost it. Before, if Harry hadn’t already started bawling, that moment was the consistent opener of the floodgates. But as he scanned Harry’s face, found it remarkably glazed and impassive. Harry was looking down and picking at his fingernails, not even remotely watching the screen.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Harry’s side. “It’s your favorite part.”

Harry glanced up. “What? I fucking hate this part.”

Blinking, Louis said, “I know, Haz. It was a joke.” He furrowed his brow. “You always cry at that bit, that’s why I—”

“So? It’s sad, what’s wrong with crying?”

Louis lifted his eyebrows and let out a snort of disbelief. “Okay, I—I’ve got to know, what the fuck is wrong?”

Harry stared. “What?”

“You’ve been off for a while now,” Louis burst out like the words had been clawing at his throat. “You’re not acting like yourself. You’re, you’re distant, and I’m fucking scared, Harry. Because, like, did I do something? Is it me?”

Harry just kept looking Louis straight in the face, eyes filled with clear comprehension, saying nothing. He blinked once, then twice, and Louis rubbed his face and groaned.

“Harry, come _on_ ,” he said. “Tell me what’s happening. Let me in. I need to—I have to know what’s going on. I have to—what happened?”

“What do you mean,” Harry said tonelessly, and Louis shook his head, because it wasn’t his Harry’s voice coming out of that mouth. His Harry was happy and present and warm and feeling and not at all like this person in front of him, so far from everything.

“Something happened,” Louis said slowly, softly, voice cracking. “I don’t know what it was, but something happened with us or me or you and now you’re... different.” He swallowed to stave off tears that he knew were coming. “And I hate it.”

“Nothing happened, Louis,” Harry scoffed, training his eyes on the floor. “I’m not diff—”

“That is bullshit and you know it!” Louis was trying not to raise his voice, but he knew it was no use. “You know it, Harry. If you want to—break up with me, or whatever, that’s fine, just stop fucking leaving me in the dark!”

Harry turned to him and Louis could see something off in his eyes. He would have asked him what the _fuck_ was going on if he hadn’t suddenly found himself pinned to the bed under Harry’s weight.

He’d never seen Harry’s pupils so blown, more black than green as they took Louis in. There wasn’t any playfulness in his features, just pure want, and Louis found his vision starting to swim with the haze of lust as well. Harry—well, he didn’t _dip_ down to kiss him so much as crush their lips together.

Louis didn’t have any time to be confused—he didn’t get to take a second and think about what was going on—instead there was the magnetic force between his lips and Harry’s and the warm pull making his back arch even as Harry straddled him. Through heavy lids and flushed cheeks, Louis took a look at Harry from a distance of approximately two inches and caught his breath, feeling the overwhelming urge to push against Harry with everything he had, needing to feel the irregularity of his own heartbeat mirrored in Harry’s.

Carding his fingers through Harry’s hair, Louis tugged him forward, slotting their mouths together once more, and roughly pushed a hand up Harry’s shirt, leaving light scratches along his back when he pushed them still closer together.

“Harry,” Louis panted, breathlessly. “Harry, fuck—”

Harry had moved forward, kissing him hard, and unzipped Louis’ trousers, cupping him through his underwear. Louis whined and lifted his hips into it, wanting still more, wanting for there to be less air between the two of them somehow. Harry smiled against Louis’ lips and pulled back, trailing fingers down Louis’ stomach while the others removed the dampening fabric of his underwear and Harry’s lips hovered over Louis’ cock. Harry looked at Louis with a wicked smile and dark eyes and swiped his tongue along the underside of Louis’ cock and the world tilted on its side.

Louis balled his fists in the blankets, trying to refocus his eyes on Harry. At the same time, he felt Harry bite down into his hip and thighs and Louis’ breathing picked up speed. A warm heat surrounded his cock and he groaned.

“Shit, Harry, why are y— _oh my god_.” Feeling Harry’s mouth around him, hot and tight and wet and so, so, so perfect wasn’t something Louis thought he’d ever get used to. When Louis got head, all the worry and doubts mostly settled down to a dull roar—they weren’t completely gone, but almost everything was more or less drowned out by the _feeling_ of Harry working Louis with his mouth, cheeks hollowed out and eyelashes fluttering. He was so fucking good at it, too, and Louis always felt a sense of pride that Harry’s talent was his doing. Louis settled his fingers in Harry’s hair near the back of his skull and pulled lightly in the way he knew Harry liked, feeling Harry moan around him. For a few minutes everything was pure sensation, with Harry occasionally taking his mouth off Louis only to glide his tongue along Louis’ cock and nip at a sensitive part of Louis’ upper thighs. The air was heavy and Louis’ breathing was shallow and there were growls that came choked out—Louis wasn’t sure who from. Things between them had never been this raw or basal, and he really would have been worried if Harry hadn’t taken his mouth off of Louis’ cock only to catch his mouth in a kiss. Harry’d never done anything like that before, never let Louis taste himself, and it was so unexpected and fucking _hot_ that Louis could feel the pressure insurmountably growing until he was sure he would come any second.

Breaking the kiss, he whispered raggedly, “Harry, think I’m close.”

Harry hummed and groaned and wrapped a hand around Louis’ cock as he pulled Louis forward, slotting their lips back together and sucking on Louis’ lip. Stroking Louis rhythmically, Harry pushed his own hips against Louis’ body, screwing his eyes closed tight and panting.

Louis moaned and grabbed at Harry’s ass. Then, fumbling, shoved Harry’s shirt up and felt the sticky heat of his shoulders moving as he worked Louis with one hand and held Louis’ head up to keep them connected at the lips with the other.

Pulling away from the kiss, Louis’ head fell backwards and he knew he was frighteningly close to climaxing. His breathing was ragged and his fringe stuck to his forehead and, when Harry started to suck mercilessly at Louis’ neck, Louis came in a rush, back arching while Harry pressed a hand to his hips and pulled his own shirt, covered in Louis’ come, off completely. Smirking, Harry dipped his head and swiped his tongue over Louis’ cock. Sensitive from coming, Louis whined, half from pain and half from pleasure, and squirmed involuntarily.

“Like that, then?” Harry asked, and Louis could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice.

Louis was about to train his face into a devastating glare, but all his efforts were cut off by Harry taking him completely in his mouth again. Louis yelped and lifted his hips, but managed to whimper, “Harry, Harry.”

Harry hummed around him and the sensation was too much. Louis batted his head away and whined again, “Harry. I can’t. It’s too much.” Louis’ breathing was still too fast, too light, and he felt a little bit dizzy, caught off guard when Harry’s mouth found his. Louis’ hands took hold of Harry’s hips and his thumbs rubbed circles on Harry’s hipbones, pressing a little bit more than necessary while they kissed. Feeling his mind returning to nearly normal levels of functioning, Louis realized that he hadn’t exactly done anything for Harry in the getting-off department. In fact, save his shirt, all of Harry’s clothes were still on.

“What the fuck is going on,” he whispered against Harry’s lips.

Harry’s hands stilled where they were tracing the outline of Louis’ ribs and he said, “Seems pretty obvious, don’t you think?” and then, “You, me, this bed, less clothes?”

Harry moved back and nipped at Louis’ neck until Louis lightly shoved him off and replied, “Harry, for god’s sake.”

“What?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes. “I told you. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit!” Louis spat, exasperated. His head was still swimming from the blowjob, but he was too fed up to just take what Harry was saying at face value. “Harry, what the fuck? You’re distant and moody and I’m fucking worried. Will you please just tell me what’s up? I’m exhausted, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth turned down into a frown and he glared for a half-second before responding, “Well, if you’re so tired, just go.”

“No, I’m—” Louis began, screwing his eyes shut and sighing. “I’m not tired of you. I’m just—I don’t know what’s happening. I just want to talk to you. I miss you tons, and I don’t want to fight.”

Harry’s eyes found Louis’ and perhaps it was the light, but he felt like it was the first time in a long time that Louis saw a bit of the Harry he first met. “I don’t want to fight either.”

Louis snorted softly. “Then just talk to me, Hazza. I’m not gonna get mad at you. If you’ve been going through something, or feeling depressed or anything, I just want you to tell me.“

Harry held his gaze on Louis for a beat then rubbed his face with his right hand forcefully, like he was trying to push something out completely. Louis raised an eyebrow but said nothing, figuring it wasn’t the time to push his luck even more. Instead, he pressed his knee against Harry’s and guided a hand to the small of Harry’s back. Louis took it as a good sign that Harry didn’t push him away or shudder out of his touch or anything, but Harry was still sitting there, scrubbing his face and making faint noises of discontent, so Louis really wasn’t sure what to do.

“Harry,” he said finally, carefully, measuring out the words and testing their weight on his tongue, “if there’s something wrong, I just want to be here for you.”

Hands stilled and Harry looked up at Louis from underneath them. He looked so open for a split second that it was almost like nothing had happened at all, let alone there being weeks of passive-somethingness filling their lives. But then, Harry’s brow furrowed and his mouth formed a line and Louis felt his heart sink. Harry blinked and replied, “Of course, I’d tell you if something was—”

Louis began to unfurl every strand of Harry’s hair slowly, deliberately, and Harry’s speech stopped and his breathing slowed as he looked up through his eyelashes at Louis and Louis’ arm, in turn. Louis moved forward, arching his back, and climbed into Harry’s lap, pulling him into a soft kiss for a few moments. Louis kept his hands on either side of Harry’s jaw and scanned his face, murmuring, “Harry. I mean it. Anything.”

A flicker crossed Harry’s eyes and he nodded shakily. Eyebrows pulling together, Harry shook his head just a fraction and Louis pressed his lips against Harry’s once more, trying to get it through to him that they were stronger than this, that he was there to help hold the weight if Harry would let him. With shining eyes, Harry said, “It’s fine. It’s really fine. Or it will be. It’ll be fine. I’m sorry.” The words were jumbled and emphatic, and Louis thought he recognized that tone of denial, but just closed his eyes lightly and gave a short nod before pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek.

Louis didn’t get it, really. He’d given Harry a couple of outs. If Harry wanted to tell him what had been going on, what could possibly have taken away his good-natured happy glow, he could have. If Harry’d wanted to break up with Louis, he could have. Faintly, Louis’ brain told him that Harry’s response meant what it meant: there was something, but it’d be dealt with. Stronger, though, Louis distinctly felt pangs saying, _He’s just trying to keep you intact._ Of course, the darkest part of himself was shouting that Harry resented him and didn’t want to be the one to rip all of Louis’ battered seams open, but that he didn’t want the responsibility of keeping them all tied together anymore.

With a closed throat and a heavy heart, Louis traced the line of Harry’s jaw and pressed a thumb to Harry’s collarbone and then to the part of Harry’s upper arm crowded against his chest. Harry looked at him inquisitively, but said nothing, and his eyes shut and he breathed out a sigh.

They laid in bed for a few hours more, not saying anything. Louis wanted to touch Harry—nothing sexual, just to hold his hand or press their temples together or entwine their legs. But he felt the air was too raw and electric, as though they were suspended in something Louis couldn’t quite name. Eventually they fell asleep, but it wasn’t an easy rest. It was more like a weight pushing Louis’ eyes closed and pulling him under. Harry’s breathing was even under his, despite the static air, but things almost felt normal and that was great. That was enough.

Light pink came through Harry’s windows and tinted everything in the room and Louis rubbed his eyes, wondering how he was going to explain this one away. Louis unwrapped himself from where Harry’s arm was around his chest and toed his way into yesterday’s clothes, wandering around Harry’s room, touching fingertips to the light notches on Harry’s desk from where he’d pushed the chair a bit too hard. Louis sighed gently, thinking about the light in Harry’s eyes before he said everything was okay. Louis shook his head, harshly, pushing it all out. Right now was what mattered and Harry looked so fucking beautiful lying on the bed with his hair falling across his forehead, his back curved around a Louis from a few minutes ago.

Something heavy settled around Louis’ chest and he squatted next to Harry’s mattress, wishing he could knead out the furrow in Harry’s brow. Whatever was going on with Harry, it had to be fixed, because Harry wasn’t the same without it fixed and Louis wasn’t the same without Harry. That day in the record store had started off a chain reaction and even though it had been a normal day by most counts, something in Louis’ timeline had changed. Whatever course his compass had set before that was remastered and here he was, in a broken boy’s room, hoping that he could be glue enough to hold one of them together.

He had to be.

Things were better after that night. Harry was smiling more, responded to Louis’ attempts at affection, and it got to a point where Louis just chalked that dark period of their relationship up to stress on Harry’s end. He didn’t blame Harry—he wouldn’t allow himself to. Everybody was allowed to be depressed, he thought, even Harry Styles. The realization that his boyfriend wasn’t always going to be the beacon of happiness and light that he was when they met was a hard one, but Louis was grateful for it, really. Every relationship went through trials (Louis’d read the books and was fairly sure he knew how the dance went). This had just been one of theirs.

They had made it through, he proudly thought, and they were going to be stronger for it down the road.

Louis kept this in mind for the next couple of weeks. Whenever he’d start having doubts about the two of them, he shook them out of his head and focused on their future. _When we’re in uni,_ he would think, _we’ll look back and pick this out as the point when we knew we were going to be together forever._ They would laugh as they lay in bed in their small dorm, remembering how young and stupid they’d been.

Instead of sleeping, Louis would think about the future and everything it held. Sometimes he almost believed it’d be better for all of them, not just him and not just Harry, but his family, too.

One slow day at the record shop, Louis was organizing the bargain bin when he suddenly felt breathing on his neck. Turning around, he couldn’t keep the smile off as he saw that it was Harry with a playful look in his eye. Andre had popped out to buy lunch, so they were the only two in the store—a rare occurrence. Louis bit his lip and looked up ( _up_! Harry was growing so much!) at the boy, his breath taken away a bit at his beauty.

“Hey,” Harry said, leaning down and pecking Louis’ cheek. “We’re gonna be okay.” And with that, he turned back to what he’d been doing at the other end of the store.

_We are,_ Louis thought with a grin as he watched Harry’s back. _We’ll be fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being so patient with us! we've both been crazy busy (even in the summer) and have been working on this for a while now. we hope you like it as much as we do!! (also buckle up because from here on out it is gonna be a bumpy fucking ride)


	9. viii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU. Louis' escape from the pain of the bruises is his record player. Slowly but surely, it becomes Harry. OR: Louis is sixteen and comes from a home as bent as one could be without being broken. Harry is fourteen and works at a record store. They meet and ruin our lives.
> 
> Title from "See America Right" by The Mountain Goats, the idea for the fic from angry/sad/generally upset texts exchanged between authors regarding The Mountain Goats' album The Sunset Tree. (We like The Mountain Goats.)

After That Night, things were normal. Harry and Louis were Harry and Louis again and Louis decided that that little period of time had been the fluke after all—not them as a relationship or them as friends, but whatever the hell had kept Harry so far from him, whatever had kept Harry perpetually pushing back some sort of palpable anger.

Louis’d seen enough of his mum and Mark to know the warning signs of an abusive relationship, but this one, he thought, could be chalked up to something simply being off. Everyone says and does things wrong sometimes, and why should he hold Harry to some higher, unreachable standard? That, Louis was sure, would be more harmful than just letting this one play itself out, which, he helpfully reminded himself, it seemed to have.

No, Louis was positive things were better now. They still aligned their schedules to each other as much as was physically possible, damn the consequences. Louis’d even gotten a bit better at avoiding Mark and having excuses he couldn’t possibly refute or twist like Louis’ arms into some fucked up thing. The bruises Louis did have were kissed softly away by Harry or gently speckled across Louis’ thighs and ribs by Harry.

It was normal. It was good.

Occasionally, it almost seemed like Harry was about to open his mouth and say something—some apology, some explanation—but he seemed to think better of it and solemnly close his eyes and shake his head just a fraction, like it wasn’t worth dwelling on. Other times, his mouth was caught by Louis’, with Louis trying to tell him that, _hey, there’d be time enough to air out the past when we’re away from everything else. There’ll be time enough to talk about everything one day_. And Harry would nod like he got it and Louis felt something push through his veins that said that everything was going to be okay because Harry got him and he got Harry and that was the way it had always been.

So, it was better, Louis decided. Harry was there and Louis was there and they would always be there. They had each other, they had everything ahead of them, and they’d make it through in whatever way they had to. It’d be fine.

Louis was tracing the outlines of Harry’s stomach through his thin white shirt one night when it occurred to him that they’d been silent for a while. That wasn’t necessarily weird or anything—they tended to have their own way of communicating without words, dealing more with slight raises of eyebrows and little touches on each other’s sides—but when Louis looked up at Harry’s face, he was caught off guard by the look of someone who’d clearly been watching him the entire time, and the lights left shadows under Harry’s eyes, lightening their irises, but making him look hollow and weary, and Louis suddenly felt sick.

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Louis cleared his thoughts. No, it wasn’t back to Harry acting strange. It was just a momentary catch of their eyes as usual and that knit in Harry’s brow wasn’t anything more than a play of the dimmed lights, nothing more than him concentrating on Louis. All that had happened was Louis’d been spooked for a second, but in that second, it felt like he’d seen a ghost. Like there’d been something different again about Harry that he couldn’t quite place, like all of the trials they’d been through— _and passed through_ , he proudly reminded himself—had been for show, something unreal.

After a second, though, Louis opened his eyes and lifted them to meet Harry’s and, seeing the flicker of brightness in them, steadied his own thoughts and doubts. _No_ , Louis thought, _it was better than okay now. It was perfect._

As Louis moved to look back down at the book he was supposed to be reading to learn up on some sort of maths theorem, Harry caught his jaw in a hand and lifted it, kissing him softly, like he understood.

“Y’alright?” Harry asked quietly, rubbing his thumb along Louis’ cheekbone. “Maths got you down?”

Louis laughed a little and nodded. “Hard to keep up a sunny disposition when ‘x’ is involved.”

“I find that to be true with relationships as well,” Harry added, and Louis rolled his eyes, knowing full well he’d never dated anyone before Louis.

“You’re a right donut, you know that, Haz?”

“Least I’m not a wrong one,” Harry said, snuggling more into Louis’ back.

“Never,” Louis replied, leaning into the touch.

“Can’t breathe,” Harry giggled into the small of Louis’ back.

“Well, whose fault is that exactly?” Louis asked, wrapping an arm around Harry and keeping him where he was, close to him.

“Holding you accountable,” the boy mumbled and Louis smiled, grateful for Harry, for this. Louis hungered to be close to Harry even when they were in the same bed, and the time when Harry wouldn’t even let him so much as brush the curls out of his eyes was something Louis would rather not repeat.

Louis shifted his body around and took Harry’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together. Harry’s breath was steady and so was Louis’ and nothing was going to ever get in their way again. They would always have this. They would always have each other.

“What was that for?” Harry sleepily inquired.

“Can’t kiss my boyfriend just because I want to now?” Louis replied, a playful edge to his voice. “Am I going to have to find some stranger for that?”

“‘Course not,” Harry said, beaming up at Louis. “If you went around snogging strangers, what would the people say?”

“Bad things, no doubt.” Louis smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes, before returning to lightly nibble at Harry’s neck.

Eyes closed and chin lifted, Harry looked so beautiful, so serene, that Louis _had_ to move up a little and catch Harry’s mouth with his own, gingerly angling his body to be straddling Harry’s ever so slightly so that he could feel the pressure of Harry under himself.

“What about maths?” Harry asked, unconvincingly, ending the sentence with a quiet whining moan.

Louis grinded against Harry softly, just barely enough to _know_ he was turning Harry on. “What _about_ maths?” Louis echoed.

Harry’s only reply was a shallow inhale and a slight grunt as he pushed his hips against Louis’. He reached up a hand and sprawled his fingers over Louis’ neck before pulling him down forcefully to kiss him. Louis rested one arm above Harry’s head and used the other to throw the textbook off of the bed so they could lie down properly. It landed in the corner with a thud and Harry smirked under Louis’ lips, something Louis’ nerve endings would never grow tired of feeling, even if it were the only thing he could feel. Maybe even especially then.

Louis slid his lips to part Harry’s and gently adjusted to cup Harry’s head while positioning himself on top of Harry. Louis tugged at Harry’s shirt—a signal they’d developed—and Harry lifted up his arms, smiling lazily down at Louis. Louis couldn’t help himself and pecked Harry straight on the lips before pulling off Harry’s shirt and then his own jumper. He noted Harry’s slight stiffening at the sight of fresh bruises on his side—a recompense for being around when Mark’s hours were cut—and decided to distract Harry by giving him some bruises of his own. _The kind from love_ , Louis thought. The kind from so much love bubbling underneath his skin that he absolutely, _positively_ had to do _something_ about it or he would surely explode.

Louis moved his lips across various parts of Harry, speckling Harry’s torso and arms with love bites between kisses and soft breaths. This was good. This was right. Fuck the past. Louis’ future was right here, under him, panting _because_ of him, and damned if that didn’t feel fantastic. Louis bit back a smile when he lifted his head and saw Harry, closed eyes and mouth parted, chest expanding and contracting just irregularly enough that Louis could pinpoint the rhythm that he’d set in motion.

Edging forward slowly, carefully, Louis traced one of Harry’s biceps and nipped at it, shivering a little when he heard Harry moan quietly, before turning his head and pushing his face into a pillow gently. Louis laughed and did it again and again, wanting so badly to be a part of Harry in the way that Harry was indelibly a part of him that he’d do anything to intertwine them further.

Harry’s chest was ever so slightly sticky, probably from a mixture of saliva and sweat, but Louis paid no heed and decided that he should move back to Harry’s stomach, making sure to bite once more on Harry’s neck, with force, before doing so.

Looking at Harry from his vantage point—momentarily above him from a hefty distance of approximately half a meter—Louis grinned. Harry was splotched, just like he’d wanted. _Almost like a canvas_ , Louis opined to himself. By this time, Harry’d turned his head back and was looking up at Louis, pupils barely allowing for even the idea of him having irises.

“You’re my masterpiece,” Louis laughed, softly.

Harry smiled and replied, “You sure about that?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Louis said with no hesitation. “You know what, though, Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Think I might’ve written myself off too soon.”

“What d’ya mean?” Harry asked, poking Louis in the cheek.

“I might have superpowers after all.”

Harry beamed and crooked his neck ever so slightly and looked at Louis sidelong. “You don’t say.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“Well, then, do tell,” Harry said, pushing himself up to kiss Louis mouth, then his ear, then his forehead, pushing his fringe aside.

“Well, look at you,” Louis breathed, forcing the words out.

Harry did a cartoonish look down and looked back up at Louis with wide eyes. “Still not following,” he admitted.

“You’re practically one big bruise,” Louis said, laughing softly into Harry’s hair. “‘S never happened this fast. Might be my time finally, though I haven’t seen any radioactive spiders around lately.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and replied, “Maybe you’re just my kryptonite. Ever consider that?”

“And make you the superhero? Never in a million years. I’ve got the origin story and everything.”

Harry snogged Louis, both of them smiling too strong to really do it properly, but when they parted, Harry looked a little morose for the half-second Louis saw him before he flipped Louis onto his back and straddled him.

“Don’t mind this too much,” Louis said. “Light’s giving you a halo with all that hair on your head.”

“Maybe I’m an angel,” Harry said, smiling so wide Louis could probably see the universe in it if he tried.

“Well, we both know you’re no saint,” Louis said, lifting his eyebrows and pressing a tentative finger to one of Harry’s bruises on his ribs. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and he shook with a hasty breath. Louis allowed his mouth to quirk up in a bit of a smile as he leaned up to press his lips to the underside of Harry’s jaw.

Moaning brokenly, Harry strained his neck and as Louis felt the taut skin underneath his lips, he smiled. He wrapped an arm around to play with the boxers peeking out of Harry’s jeans at the small of his back, but he pulled away when Harry started softly shaking his head. “No,” he said quietly, “no, I can’t—I can’t keep this up, I can’t keep doing this.”

Louis was struck at the sudden change in atmosphere and pulled away. “What? No, Harry, I—we’ve been through this before. What are you talking about?”

“I can’t, Louis.” Harry’s voice was small all of a sudden, and Louis laughed humorlessly.

“What the fuck are you on about, Haz? Is this—you’re not breaking up with me, are you? We’re better now, right? We’ve worked through it—”

“No, Lou,” Harry said, shifting himself so he was sitting on the bed next to Louis. “You don’t—I… I saw a doctor.” His eyes were watering and his voice wavered on the last word.

Louis leaned forward, snorting a bit. “Well, we’ve… we’ve all seen a doctor at some point, Harry. What for?”

“I—I have leukemia, Louis,” Harry said, turning to look at him. “Cancer.”

Louis blinked and stared at Harry, who was now silently crying. “What? I don’t—I don’t understand. You’re fifteen. People our age don’t just _get_ cancer, Harry. That’s not…” Louis’ breathing was coming more raggedly and he could feel his heartbeat thumping louder and louder in his chest.

Wiping his runny nose on the back of his hand, Harry pressed his lips softly to Louis’. “The bruises? The way my face has thinned?”

“I told you,” Louis said manically. “It’s my superpower, and, and we all lose our baby fat, Harry, that’s called puberty—” He could feel the tears streaming down his own face now, and there was a numb haze making his brain swim.

“My awful moods, Louis,” Harry said, wiping away Louis’ tears with soft brushes of his fingers. “I’ve been sick for a while.”

“Leukemia,” was the only thing Louis could say. “Leukemia. What—what stage are you?”

Taking Louis’ hand and squeezing it, Harry whispered, “Three.”

Louis found a hysterical laugh escape his throat and all he could hear was three echoing in his head, softer and louder and distorted. “Are you…” He swallowed, trying to calm himself down. “Are you gonna die?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said weakly, letting go of Louis’ hand. “Probably.”

_What are you doing?_ Louis’ mind asked him. _You’re supposed to be comforting him. You’re supposed be telling him it’s going to be okay. You’re not supposed to be the fucking mess._

“No, you’re not,” Louis said automatically. “Don’t say that. You’ll be fine. They have… all sorts of treatment nowadays, right? Ch—chemotherapy and stuff. You can get that, yeah? You’ll—it’ll go away. Everything will be fine.”

Harry appraised Louis through glazed eyes and nodded shakily. “Yeah, yeah. That—that’s the plan. Yeah. It’ll… it’ll be okay. You’re right.” His eyes betrayed his stress and worry and Louis went straight into consolation mode again. _Your mum’s a nurse_ , he thought. _What would she say_?

He breathed deeply and took Harry’s face in his hands. “Listen. I’m… I’m gonna be here for you, okay? When do your treatments start? Have they already started?”

Harry looked at him sadly. “No, they—they haven’t yet. They’re on Fridays,” he said tiredly. “Every Friday for as long as I live, probably.”

Louis wouldn’t allow himself to wonder how long that would be.

“Okay. Fridays.” Louis nodded. “I need to clear my work schedule. I’ll be there for every single one, Harry. You’re never gonna be alone.”

Harry looked at him and smiled, but they both knew it was pretense. “I love you, Louis.”

Louis pulled Harry into a tight hug, rubbing his hand up and down Harry’s back. “I love you, too. So much I could explode.”

“Better not do that,” Harry warned, without consequences. “Can’t have little bits of you all over me. Imagine explaining that one.”

Louis looked at Harry for a second, feeling the weight of a thousand emotions push on his chest, and laughed a little, brokenly. Harry was the same as he’d always been. He was still full of life, still funny in unexpected ways, and capable of fixing broken situations and broken people with a bright smile and a glimmer in his eyes. The purple under Harry’s eyes was a trick of the light, nothing more. Shadows and light warping the boy in front of him.

Growing up with his mum, Louis’d heard stories for years of people going from the brink of death to having completely normal, fulfilling lives with worse circumstances. Louis swallowed and smiled softly to himself. If anyone was able to face cancer and tell it to fuck right off, Louis was sure it was Harry.

He moved back and held Harry in his arms, treating him like a bruised and cracked thing. Louis tenderly kissed Harry’s shoulders and neck and tilted his head to press their lips together in that familiar way. The night swallowed the rest of the light filtering into the room, save that from the streetlights, and Louis fell asleep listening to Harry’s heartbeats as they coincided and collided with his own.

When he got home, there were no questions and no answers. Some fists and nails, but nothing Louis wasn’t already plenty used to, and Louis crawled into his own bed, thinking over the night before, sure that half of it was a bad dream, and unfortunately reminded of how real it was when he suddenly found himself in a hospital, holding Harry’s hand and rubbing a thumb over his pulse point that Friday.

Anne looked over at him from behind Harry’s hunched-over back and smiled tightly. Louis tried to smile back, but just knitted his eyebrows together and joined Anne in cooing at Harry, telling him all sort of positivities that Louis knew they’d both looked up online that supposedly kept people in these sorts of situations afloat. Louis was sure that Harry wasn’t one of those _people_ he’d read about, but would willingly swallow pig urine if he read that it’d help Harry.

When Harry’s name was called, Louis shivered and squeezed Harry’s hand a little, pulling his mouth into a line and kissing Harry’s hand lightly, noiselessly. Harry smiled down at him, his eyes brimming and his body shaking, and went behind white doors for an immeasurable period of time during which Louis picked at his cuticles and tapped his foot and talked to Anne about her work and how courses were going and _anything that wasn’t Harry and how he was fifteen and getting treated for stage three cancer while they were out here._

That’s how it was for weeks and weeks, and summer came and went with Louis pushing back Harry’s fringe as he puked into whatever container was available. And Harry called in sick for work more often than he came in, and Louis called in sick because he’d promised to be there for Harry however he could—he’d promised himself and Harry—and if the only way he could be there for Harry was by rubbing his back and making him some chamomile, then for god’s sake, he was going to do that.

From the first time on, it was long days and longer nights spent with a discernible weight pushing down on Louis’ chest. It was fall and he had to keep his spirits up along with Harry’s, so he swallowed all the fear built up inside of him and put on a smile every day he saw Harry at school and tried not to think the worst every day he didn’t.

He knew deep inside that even if absences messed up Harry’s term, he’d wait as long as it took for them to have their happy ending, together.

Louis thought of himself as a fairly reasonable person and he knew that leukemia was one of the Bad Cancers ( _Not like there are good cancers_ , he thought at himself derisively), but he also knew Harry was young and that made his chances higher, that Harry was a fighter and Louis just kept thinking that there was no way in hell he was letting Harry go that easy. He’d take up science if it meant saving Harry.

Harry, for his part, smiled a little slower than he used to when Louis came by with his schoolwork and always lifted up his head to rest his cheek on one hand to ask Louis about this or that—how was the shop? how were classes? how was Lottie doing?—but after a while Harry’d fall asleep, pushing his face up, with his mouth open, and Louis would watch him breathing easily for a few minutes, parting his hair just so, and then head home, planting a kiss on Harry’s forehead beforehand.

Louis came home one day after spending time with Harry (which mostly meant making sure he got his fluids and medicines and didn’t overexert himself) and collapsed on his bed. He would never dare complain about having to look after Harry, partly because he didn’t deserve to and partly because he just wanted to be around him. But it got so, so exhausting sometimes. Sometimes he was so tired that when Mark would lay into him he’d barely even feel it.

Hearing a knock on his door, he sighed and rolled over to open it. He knew it wasn’t Mark because the bastard never knocked. It was probably Lottie asking for help with her homework.

“Coming,” he said loudly as he forced his legs to get up and walk to the door. As he did, he couldn’t stop his brow from knitting when he saw it was his mother. Her hair had thinned considerably in the past five years, he’d noticed, and the lines in her face were carved in. She was wearing a large grey T-shirt, one Louis knew belonged to Mark, and the sight made him so angry he could vomit.

He hadn’t spoken to her alone in ages, and he frowned. “Hey, mum. What’s… what’s up?”

She didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him and reached a hand up to adjust his fringe. Louis’ first instinct would usually be to flinch, but he was never on his guard around her. He leaned into the touch and said softly, “What’s going on, mum?”

She smiled a little, a rare sight since her marriage to Mark. “Can I come in, boo?” He nodded and stepped back into his room, sitting on his bed. She sat next to him and placed her hand on his knee, rubbing gently.

The two were silent for a bit before Louis asked slowly, “So... what’s up?”

“I was out shopping a couple of days ago,” Jay said, looking at him. “And I saw two boys holding hands outside Tesco.”

Louis’ stomach dropped a bit. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “And one of them was wearing the button-up his sister got him for Christmas last year.”

“Mum, I—I’m—” Louis stammered, but his mother shook her head.

“I don’t care if you’re gay, Louis. I’ve never cared about that sort of thing, I’d love you no matter what,” she said. “What I do care about is your safety. And if… if Mark saw you, out, with that boy—”

“Harry,” Louis said automatically. “Not ‘that boy’. His name is Harry.”

“Harry,” she said softly. “If Mark saw you with him, I—I don’t know what he’d do. And I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Then why don’t you _leave him_ , mum?” Louis asked, for the first time in his life, with as little tone as he could manage. He loved his mother and knew that there had to be _some_ reason she couldn’t quite get away from Mark, but he sure couldn’t see it from where he was sitting.

She stared down at her hands. “It isn’t that simple, Louis. It just isn’t.”

“Just tell me,” he pleaded. “Please, mum.”

Rubbing her forehead, she sighed. “Mark makes good money, Louis. He provides for us. What with you and the girls, I wouldn’t be able to take care of all of us on my own. He’s the best thing for us.”

Louis had never blamed his mother for staying with Mark, ever. He wouldn’t let himself. But he felt a foreign anger boil up inside of him as he heard what she was saying.

“You said you cared about my safety,” he said, trying to remain calm as his chest rose with uneven breathing. “But you let him beat the life out of me, mum. Almost every night. He does it to you, too— _ow_!”

Jay struck a hand across his cheek, her brow furrowed. “I don’t _let_ him do anything to you, Louis Tomlinson. Don’t you ever dare say that to me. Don’t you _dare_.”

He rose a hand to his cheek, staring at her. Tears were beginning to prickle at his eyes.

“I know you think you know all about pain and suffering,” she said slowly, emotion betraying the straight face she was trying to keep. “But you have no idea the sacrifices I have made for you and your sisters. No idea. Don’t you think for one second I want you to hurt—that I let any of this happen. Marriage is complicated, Louis. I can’t even begin to explain how complicated. And you give things up for family. I’m not saying what he does is right at all. I’m just saying, you might understand better once you’ve got a family of your own.”

Louis looked down at his hands, shaking his head slightly. “Not sure I’ll ever understand, mum.”

She looked at him sadly, and pushed his fringe to the side before kissing his forehead. "I hope you never do," she said, contradicting herself. Louis knew she meant that she hoped he'd never be where she was and he felt tears well up in his eyes. "Just," she began, pausing, "be careful, okay?"

Louis nodded shakily. "Okay."

Sitting there for a minute, she sighed and made to leave, but turned to him. “Sometimes it doesn’t make sense, Lou.”

“What doesn’t?” he asked.

She frowned, seemingly poring over her words. “Just… think things through, ‘kay? You—you looked happy. The other day, in front of the Tesco. Happier than I’ve seen you since you were little. He—Harry—he must be treating you really well. He’s got to—”

“He’s wonderful,” Louis said firmly. “I love him.”

Jay laughed as she wiped away tears forming in her eyes. “Good, baby.” She pulled him into her and rested her head atop his. “You deserve it.”

He sat there, breathing steadily to even out his mum's shaky breaths. With one hand, he caressed her back, and cooed a little, humming the melody of "Carry That Weight" into the shell of her ear.

Hugging him tighter, Jay pet Louis' hair and mumbled a muffled "Love you so much" into his neck.

They stayed like that for a while, too many emotions between the two of them to count, before Jay left with a goodnight and Louis curled up into himself against the wall next to his bed and squeezed his eyes shut, praying for a restful night and no bad dreams this time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're really really really sorry.


End file.
